Through Another's Eyes
by Lost In The Stars
Summary: Because the story changes when told through another set of eyes. The Hunger Games from Peeta's perspective.
1. Reaping Day

**Disclaimer: Nope, not Suzanne Collins. Damn. **

**Note: This is going to be my version of _the Hunger Games _from Peeta's perspective_. _I'll keep it as canon as I can, but of course add on what is necessary to keep it original. :) I hope you enjoy!****

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I wake up to the sound of my father's voice quietly trading with a customer. I sit up in my bed, momentarily confused.

Today's the Reaping, which means we should be closed. At least for the morning, that is. We use the early hours to prepare for the surge of business that comes after the ceremony. The lucky families are always ready to celebrate with decent food.

I bite back a yawn and then groan in frustration, rubbing my palms over my eyes, trying unsuccessfully to wake myself up.

It's useless, however.

"Damn Reaping," I mutter quietly to myself. It's the sole reason I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks.

I tell myself it's because I'm just terrified of being chosen, but my countless nightmares of an olive-skinned, black-haired beauty standing in an arena surrounded by blood say differently. It seems my sleeping-self acknowledges what I refuse to when awake—my greatest fear.

I shake my head, running my fingers tiredly through the sleep tussled strands, flat-out refusing, once again, to even consider that chance.

It won't happen. It can't happen.

A loud snore breaks through my thoughts. I glance toward the other side of the small bedroom, and can't help but smile at the sight of my older brother, sprawled across his bed, fingertips grazing the ground, and his head underneath his covers to block out the faint light.

I pick up my pillow and chuck it at his sleeping form.

"Pekar, get up," I call loudly. "Father's already downstairs."

He grabs the pillow I threw at him and puts it over his head. "No."

I laugh loudly on purpose, he's never been a morning person. "Fine, suit yourself. I'll just let mother deal with you."

He groans loudly and gives me a rather rude hand sign. "Go away, Peeta."

My father's voice is still audible. My curiosity is peaked yet again, and I slip out of my bed and pull on my leather boots. They're too small, having been worn by my two brothers before me, and it's a struggle to fit my feet in. Fleetingly, I remember the time I asked my mother if she could buy me a new pair of boots, and how I had sported a bruised face and a sensitive eardrum for the rest of the week.

Quickly pulling on my trousers and shirt, I glance swiftly in the small, chipped mirror by the door. My hair is its usual mess and I try in vain to straighten it out. Giving up, I slip quietly out of the room.

Our house is above the shop, and compared to the others in our area, it's pretty small. One hallway that leads to two bedrooms, one for my parents and the other for me and my brother.

My eldest brother, Peder, no longer lives with us. He married the tanner's daughter, Miri, around a year ago, and is now working as an apprentice to her father.

They found out she was pregnant a few months ago, and he's happy—to say the very least—so I'm trying to be too. Although why anyone would want to raise a child in a world like ours is beyond me. I could never do it—I know that much.

To say my mother is ecstatic would be a huge understatement, she is positively thrilled. Which makes sense, Peder has always been her favorite; she never tried to hide that.

Walking down the narrow stairwell that leads into the shop, I can see my father's silhouette against the doorway, but his shadow blocks the customer from my view. Their muttered conversation, however, makes it easy to guess the topic: past Reapings.

Making my way down the last few steps, I finally make out their voices.

"Last year's pick was terrible," my father says quietly, "I knew the boy's father. He used to come by the shop. Rarely see him anymore."

"Yeah, I know. Both were scarcely twelve or thirteen. Neither of them survived the first ten minutes…" But then I stop listening, because I suddenly recognize who my father is talking to.

Gale Hawthorne.

As in _h__er_ Gale Hawthorne.

He's leaning against the door frame, his dark eyes intense with emotion as he discusses the Games. If he has one fault, it's his inability to hide his hatred for the Capitol.

Especially at a time like this. It's always more dangerous around the Reapings because the district is swarming with cameras loyal only to the Capitol. One false move, one misinterpreted action that could be considered disrespect against the President, and you're shipped back to the City to be questioned. Most times you're never seen again. And when you are, it's only in the televised execution marathon they play at the end of each month.

That's why I've always been surprised by how little he tries to conceal his hatred. Especially with all his siblings depending on him. But I have nothing against him, really. He's a good guy. I've never once heard him complain about his responsibilities—ever. He takes care of his brothers and sisters as if he were their father, which he essentially is.

And even though it's preposterous, I consider him a rival for _her_ affections. Though by those standards, he's a step from the prize while I'm still at the starting line.

My father's voice breaks through my thoughts. "And good luck to you, son. Wish the same to Katniss. You're off to see her now, aren't you?"

He nods. "Thank you again," he holds out a parcel of fresh bread. The expensive—best of our bakery—bread.

My father smiles grimly. "We all need to be generous on today of all days. Next time, though, let your girlfriend take the shot."

My hands curl up into fists at my father's casual comment, my fingernails bruising the skin of my palm. I notice the fact that Gale doesn't bother to correct him.

"Will do," I hear him say through my sudden inexplicable furry. "But I best be off." He notices me standing there, and nods his head in farewell before turning and disappearing into the early morning sunrise.

My father shuts the door, and turns around, a frown playing across his lips. It's obvious his thoughts are once again occupied by the Reaping. He notices me, and attempts to smile.

"Didn't see you there, son. Care for some breakfast?" he says as he holds up a squirrel. There's an arrow hole through the stomach. A poor shot. Not worth the loaf he traded.

"No, I'm not very hungry for meat," I say and ignore the thoughts that tell me I would have ate it if someone with long black hair and dark eyes had been the one who had shot it.

I frown at the direction my thoughts are turning and sit down at the small table in the family kitchen, which is basically a tiny room with an oven and a table, where we eat our meals. It's tucked away behind the much larger shop kitchen.

As my father makes his breakfast, I grab a loaf of yesterday's bread and cut into it. It's surprisingly not very stale, the middle still soft. It's refreshing from the usual hard bread I force myself to choke down.

"So, you nervous about today?" he asks from the stove.

"Not really," I reply, much too fast. I cringe, knowing I just gave myself away.

"Uh huh," he turns and smirks at me. "So you're not concerned at all for a certain girl with a knack for shooting squirrels, then?"

"I have no idea what you're referring to," I say stiffly but can't hold back my grin. I still curse the day my innocent nine-year-old self confided in him about my little "crush". He still hasn't let it go.

"I remember when I was a boy," he starts, as he sits down across from me. "You're a lot like me. I never thought about whether I'd be chosen. I was far more concerned about—well…you know, my brother being picked."

That's a lie and we both know it. If there was one good thing that came out of my telling him about _her_, it was the story he told me in return. A story about a certain someone's mother.

"Sure, father, your brother." He smiles at me and leans over to muss up my hair.

"Oh shut it, you—" he stops talking as my mother walks in. His smile slowly disappearing as he stands up to offer her his chair.

"Morning," she says briskly, more out of a habit than anything, as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

Coffee. One of the delicacies from the Capitol. Expensive, too. The peddler sells his goods only once a week in the market, and my mother is always the first in line.

That time I asked for new boots, I had said that if we didn't buy coffee that week, we would be able to afford them. Well that really blew her up. She went on and on about how she gave up everything for me and the one thing she did for herself was buy coffee, and how could I be so selfish?

Her temper set me off, and I still remember the look on her face when I asked her what exactly she had ever given up for me. And that's how I landed the bruise.

The chair squeals loudly, breaking my thoughts, as she takes a seat across from me. My father pulls up a chair, and continues to finish his breakfast. He doesn't notice my mother's sharp eyes following his movements.

"Where did you get that meat?" she questions quietly.

I try to shovel down the rest of my bread, not wanting to be here when she explodes.

"Oh, this? I traded for it this morning with one of the local kids," he says casually.

Her blue eyes narrow coldly. "But we are closed today."

He looks up finally and stares at her. "It's the Reaping, Janete. I'm not going to let some family have nothing fresh to eat tonight, if I can help it. Besides, it was a fair trade."

"This kid wouldn't have happened to be your dear, little Katniss, now would it?"

I jolt at the sound of her name, completely taken aback. It's always easier for me, if I don't let myself think about her around Reaping time. When I do, my nightmares come rushing back and my stomach fills with knots at the mere prospect of her being chosen.

"What is that suppose to mean?" he asks, his voice carefully controlled.

"Oh, nothing," she grins. "It just seems like you have a soft spot for her, but I'm being silly, it's just because you grew up with her mother, right?" she asks with a sly smile. Her malice-filled eyes, however, tell she is fully aware of the extent of her comment.

My father's face darkens visibly, but he doesn't respond. The kitchen becomes deathly quiet, the only sound being my fathers cutlery, angrily stabbing his food.

It is very safe to say my parents marriage was not committed in love. Quite the opposite, I think.

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The morning before the ceremony is always a rush of preparations. My brother and father take over the kitchen, churning out loaves of bread like a machine, while I'm in charge of the cake decorating.

They'll be going into the window display, so as my mother keeps reminding me—they need to be perfect.

I line up the different colors of frosting in front of me and I can't control the sudden sense of loss that fills me.

I first discovered the art of painting when I was ten-years-old and happened upon an old book at school. The pictures were small and a little yellowed, but I was still awed. Tréy Metticanni's art—magical pieces that made you feel like the paint was alive, even when looking at it from a tattered book—changed something inside of me forever.

It was the first time I felt resentment at being born in District 12.

I had always been content with my life, but that all changed after seeing how lucky Capitol-born Tréy Metticanni was.

If only because I would never be given the opportunity to explore the creative boundaries like he did. I would never be able to hold a paintbrush and feel the thrill of the first stroke on a fresh canvas.

Here, stuck in dismal District 12, I'd never be able to get anything I yearned for.

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My mother's shrill voice breaks my concentration, the cake I was placing in the window teeters dangerously before steadying on the display.

"Peeta," my mother calls, annoyed. "Hurry up, the water is getting cold!"

As I step into the deep tub, I shiver. The water has already lost its warmth. I wash quickly with the molded bar of soap we use only for special occasions.

Stepping out I quickly pull on the stiff, uncomfortable clothes my mother set out for me. The collar rubs against my neck tightly. Yet another hand-me-down.

Toweling my hair dry, I comb it so that it lays flat. Glancing in the mirror, I try once more to loosen the tight collar choking me. It barely moves, and I sigh defeatedly, before joining my family downstairs.

The walk to market square usually only takes a few minutes, but with the crowd so large it takes nearly twenty. My father signs our names into the book of signatures to ensure we don't get a call from the Peacekeepers tonight.

We wait on the outskirts of the crowd for Peder and Miri. My father stands with one hand on Pekar's shoulder and the other hand on my arm. I can feel him shaking.

"It's fine, father. We'll make it through," I say confidently, smiling at him.

Pekar grins. "Even if I am picked, I'd win for sure," he says, flexing his arms dramatically. "I mean, look at me."

"All I see is weak little baby arms," my brother Peder calls out as he and Miri walk hand in hand toward us.

Pekar, faking offense, shoves Peder.

"Pekar," my mother yells. "Don't push your brother!"

Pekar rolls his eyes at me, and I smile knowingly.

As my mother fawns over Peder and Miri's belly, my father walks up to us again.

"It's almost time, boys." He tries to smile. "We should get moving soon."

I nod, only partially listening.

Miri escapes from my mother and gives us both a hug, her pregnant stomach getting in the way. "I'll see you both tonight at dinner, right?" she asks sternly.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Pekar says with a wink.

Peder walks up behind Miri, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Pekar, stop flirting with my pregnant wife. It's just embarrassing. Oh, and don't be late, I'm starving already."

Miri slaps him lightly on the arm. "We just ate! Not even twenty minutes ago. How can you already be hungry?"

"Alright boys, time to go," my father says quietly, his mouth twisted in a worried line, unkowningly interrupting Peder's indingnant response.

Miri hugs us once more before moving to stand next to my mother.

"Good luck," Peder calls, following his wife. "See you tonight."

My father pats us both on the shoulder before sending us back into the crowd. We work are way through to the roped off section in front of the stage.

Pekar turns to me. "We'll both make it through. I'm not worried," he says, though his usual care-free smile is clouded.

"Of course we will," I assure him. "Miri would kill us if we didn't make it to her supper."

He laughs his loud laugh, and nods in agreement. "That she would," he waves before turning and walking into the section marked off for the eighteen-year-olds.

My attention is drawn to the stage that has been resurrected in front of the Justice Building. The twin glass balls glare ominously in the sunlight. I shudder when thinking about how many slips of paper read her name.

_Too many_, my thoughts tell me. _Way too many._

As if on cue, she walks into our section. My breath catches as I look at her. I've never seen her in a dress before. Past Reapings, she's always just donned a skirt and blouse. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. She looks amazing.

Mayor Undersee, a tall, nice man, interrupts my thoughts by starting the long, dreary speech of the history of Panem. My eyes are once again drawn to the stage. Effie Trinket, the rather eccentric Capitol escort with shocking pink hair and an equally shocking green suit is perched elegantly next to an empty chair.

I can't stifle the laughter that comes from the sight. Of course Haymitch, the only living District 12 winner, is late.

Just as I finish my thought, he walks on stage. His intoxication is obvious to anyone with eyes as he trips into his seat after attempting to hug Effie Trinket.

The Mayor, looking quite embarrassed, talks loudly over the chuckling. "Now, it's my pleasure to introduce, District 12's escort—Effie Trinket!"

The look of disgust on her face as she walks past Haymitch is poorly disguised behind a smile.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She cries out enthusiastically once she reaches the podium. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She puts a hand to her hair, as if checking to make sure it's still there. After righting it she then proceeds to tell us what an honor it is to be here. Yeah right. It's pretty obvious she's wished to be in another district since they first landed her with ours a couple years back.

I notice Gale. He's staring in my direction, and I turn to see that he is looking at her, and she is staring back. They seem to be talking silently. They're faces identical masks of worry for the other.

It hits so suddenly that I barely register the blinding jealousy that fills me.

_She'll never look at me like that_, my thoughts rage.

I'm so deep in my sudden despair that I barely notice that Effie Trinket is now digging around in the girl's bowl. I come back to reality just as she walks back to the podium.

She clears her throat and announces in a loud, cheerfully happy voice: "Primrose Everdeen."

For all of one second, I rejoice in the fact that it's not her. _It's not her_. Then one second later it hits me.

Primrose Everdeen.

Everdeen.

_Katniss_.

I look over at her. She's frozen in shock, looking almost winded.

"Prim!" She shouts, then possessed by shock and grief, she streaks past me, and shoves her sister behind her. It's then that I hear the words that cause my world to fall broken around me.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

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A/N: So I hope you liked it. Should I continue or no?


	2. Irony

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Hunger Games. Unfortunately.

Thanks for all the reviews, guys. :) How can I not continue after all that?

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I can't move. I can't think. I watch helplessly while Katniss struggles with Prim, who has wrapped her skinny, little arms tightly around her body. Gale magically appears beside her, prying Prim away, her petite body thrashing wildly in his arms. His face is emotionless, but I can tell he wants more than anything to grab Katniss and run—to run far, far away and never come back.

I can tell because it's the same urge I have, and it takes all my effort to keep my body still, to not run up there and push her behind me and tell the Capitol to go screw themselves. I want to protect her so badly it hurts. My hands curl into fists, and I dig my fingers deep into my palm, to restrain myself from bolting to that stage and making everything worse.

I've never hated the Capitol more than at this moment.

Her voice reaches me as if it's traveling through a deep fog, "Katniss Everdeen." And even though I can't hear it clearly I can tell it's still loud and brave and proud.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" I cross my arms in front of my chest, resisting the urge to throttle that sick excuse of a human until her freakish pink wig falls off her head. But that, too, would not solve anything.

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

Outstandingly, not one person claps. Not the Mayor, nor the people past caring. The insect-like cameras swoop over the silent crowd, stunned as am I, by such an obvious sign of rebellion.

I stare at Katniss. Standing as still as a board, her face a mask of shock. I'm frozen, just looking at her, memorizing her. This may as well be the last chance I have. But no, I must not think like that! _If anyone has a chance, it's her, _I silently reassure myself.

I tune back into reality, and now I'm the one that is shocked by what I see. Nearly every person in the square is holding their three middle fingers out to her. I've never been prouder of District 12. I quickly put my fingers to my lips and reach them towards her.

This meaningful moment is suddenly broken by Haymitch, ever the most graceful and subtle person. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he shouts at the cameras while throwing his massive arm over Katniss' shoulders. I visibly see her stagger under his weight.

"I like her! Lot's of…" he pauses in his drunk rage, seeking a word. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. He releases Katniss and starts stomping toward the cameras, pointing menacingly with his fingers. "More than you!"

He reaches the edge of the stage before shouting once more, "More than you!" And with that, Haymitch falls off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

All the cameras surround his slumped body, as the Peacekeepers hurriedly try to make their way to him through the crowd. Once they reach him, they quickly put him on a stretcher and take him away as fast as they can. As if moving quickly will make the situation less embarrassing.

Effie Trinket is trying to focus the crowd back in. "What an exciting day!" Her wig is now several inches off course. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She hurries over to the glass ball, one hand clutching her hair, and without her usual prelim, grabs the first slip her fingers touch. And then she's back at the podium, and I don't even have time to think before her perpetually chirp voice exclaims, "Peeta Mellark!"

And for the second time today, I'm frozen in shock. But only for a moment, I struggle to compose my face as I try to move my stiff legs.

_Come on_, I think. _Don't show weakness. Be brave_.

My right foot moves.

Then my left.

And now I'm moving, albeit slowly, but I'm making my way forward. I pass Pekar, he's staring open-mouthed as I move past him. I think I hear Miri cry out, but then again, I'm not sure. I can't really comprehend anything at the moment.

I reach the stage and climb up, hoping my face does not reveal my true emotions. I take my stance a few inches away from Katniss, our shoulders almost brushing, and her closeness somehow manages to calm my racing heart. I know what I have to do now.

Effie Trinket asks for volunteers. I don't expect anything, and therefore I'm not surprised when no offer comes.

Mayor Undersee starts to read the Treaty of Treason, the same as every year, except unlike any of those years, I'm the one on the stage. I'm the poor little kid waiting to be carted off to a gruesome death.

And this will be my death. I have no doubt about that. I won't come back if it means that she dies. No way in hell.

Life is pretty ironic, isn't it? I mean to think, just this morning I was complaining about never having the chance to speak with her and now I'm going to be expected to kill her?

Well that's never going to happen. If anything, I'll be making sure that she survives. I'm not positive how yet, but she will come home. I know it.

And then the Mayor is motioning for us to shake hands, and I grab her small one in mine and give it a squeeze. Meanwhile in my head, this handshake is sealing the pact I made with myself.

The pact that will keep her alive, and the pact that will end with my inevitable death.

But for some reason, this thought does not scare me. Not at all. In fact, it gives me strength. She'll be able to come back here and have a life, and strangely, that's enough for me.

~/~/~/~/~/~

The moment the anthem ends, we are surrounded by Peacekeepers. The crowd thickens as we walk through. All of their faces are grim, and they look…sad.

I don't know what to make of it. Usually, families break out in rejoice the minute the Reaping has ended, in celebration of the fact that their kids are safe—for this year, at least. But right now, they are all silent, some even still hold out their middle fingers for us. I'm filled with such a sudden rush of gratitude for these people that tears prick my eyes.

I sneak a glance at Katniss. Her face is emotionless, and it dawns on me how brave she must act, and what an unbelievably good and genuine person she is.

No one else would have stepped up for sister like she did. Hell, my brother didn't do it for me. I don't blame Pekar, I wouldn't have stepped up for him. That's sad, I know, but that's how it is. It shows just how much she cares for Prim, just how much she can love a person. And that thought leaves me speechless.

We're lead through the front doors and then they separate us. They take me down a wide, richly decorated hallway, and then into a room, where I'm instructed to sit. If I thought the hall was nice, this room is ten times better. All the floor space is dedicated to chairs and couches covered in velvety pillows. The walls and floor are made from solid oak, polished until I can see my reflection.

They really like to overdue it, don't they? Rub it in our faces how much better off they are? Well, I personally think it's to fancy. I'd be living in constant caution of accidentally knocking over one of those dainty little glass decorations if I lived in a stuffed up place like this.

I lean against the back of my chair, and try to prepare myself for what's to come. The accursed allotted hour to say goodbye to the people I will never see again. What a cheerful and heartwarming thought.

My father is the first to come in, followed closely by my two brothers and Miri.

Mother trails in slowly, reluctantly.

Miri is the first to engulf me in a hug, the tears already streaming down her face. She is more family to me than my mother. And that's the truth. I've known her my whole life. She and my brother have been inseparable since childbirth, and it was no shock to anyone when they finally got married. To me, she had always been a sister, so it was nice that I could officially call her one.

She takes my head in both her hands, and looks me straight in the eyes. "Promise me, Peeta," her eyes still wet, glisten with emotion. "Promise me you'll come back."

And that's what brings on the tears. I valiantly try to hold them back, but it's no use. Because I know I cannot make that promise. I can't even give her a little sliver of hope. There's no chance that I'm coming back. None at all.

She shakes me, her tears falling onto my chest. "Promise me!" And when I just stand there, she breaks down and flings her arms around me, sobbing.

Peder is suddenly there, he takes her small body into his arms, rocking her back and forth, trying to console her.

I stare helplessly at her until my father takes my shoulder and gently leads me to the opposite side of the room. I can't help but glance back at her, and my heart sinks even more at the sight. My father pulls my gaze back to him by whispering, "I'm going to miss you, son."

My throat clenches. "I'll miss you too, father." I manage to croak out.

"Listen carefully, Peeta," His face is now serious, eyes shining, mouth a straight line. "Do not let these Games change you, son. You, hear me? You've got a good soul, and I don't ever want to see that change." He shakes his head furiously, as if he wishes he could take my place. "It'll be terrible, what you'll have to go through, no doubt about that. But you have things to live for, so be brave son." He was right, I did have things to live for. I have friends and family, a school and a bright future. But he was also wrong, because I had a more important thing to _die_ for. She was far more important than anything else. I didn't need to crush him too, though.

"I know, father, I will try my hardest." _To make sure she wins, _I added silently.

"I love you, Peeta."

"I love you, too." My voice breaks on the last word.

He pauses and straightens up, his voice now whispering for only me to hear. "I know I will see you again, you'll come back home."

My heart clenches, and I want so desperately to believe him, but I know I must've. I can't.

My father walks away with out waiting for my response, and my brothers soon take his place. I glance back, Miri's now standing at the window, water still streaming down her face. I swallow back my own tears and face my brothers. Both wear identical looks of helplessness.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta! I'm such a fool and a coward. I should have taken your place. If you die, I will never forgive myself!" Pekar rants.

I take his arms and hold him in a hug. "It's not your fault I was chosen, and it won't be your fault if I die. Please don't blame yourself." I try to console him.

"But I'm your big brother! I should have been there for—"

I cut him off. "No, you didn't! I can take care of myself, Pekar. You don't always have to be there. Now enough of this, I don't want to fight now."

He nods and continues to hug me, Peder now joining in too.

"You can do this, Peeta, we know you can." They both whisper to me, before we break up and join the others.

The time disappears and now it's almost time for my family to go. My mother comes up to me and stiffly pulls me into a hug.

"Maybe District 12 will actually have a winner this year," she says. "She is a fighter that one." She pulls away and leaves the room. No kiss or an, 'I love you'. But then again, I didn't expect one.

Miri, too, gives me one last hug, whispering in my ear, "I love you, Peeta. Please come home." Her tears are gone now, but her face is still damp. She pulls my hand to her bulging stomach. "I want you to meet your nephew," she says it so quietly and pitifully that I hug her once more. We stay there for a few seconds before I let Peder take her out of the room.

My father is the last one to leave and as he shuts the door, I hear him whisper, "I know you can do it, I know you can win."

The door shuts with an echoing boom and I'm left alone. I fling myself into a cushiony chair and rest there. The table beside me holds countless little glass figurines, without even considering what I'm doing; I flick one off the table. It shatters once it hits the floor, and I feel so much better.

There's a loud knock at the door, and I hurriedly kick the glass remains under the couch. It must be the Peacekeepers, and it's time to go to the train. But why would they knock?

I walk over and slowly open it, receiving the shock of my life.

Gale.

Gale, my enemy, is standing in the doorway. My shock must show on my face because he cracks a small grin. "Would you mind if I talked to you for a second?" he asks politely, as if we we know one another, as if we are friends. When in reality, we've spoken maybe ten words in total to eachother.

I nod stonily, and open the door to let him in.

He whistles while he walks inside. "Fancy."

He must not have visited Katniss yet.

"I'm on my way to see Katniss," he confirms my suspicion. "So that's why I need to hurry."

He walks up until he is standing right in front of me, he clears his throat awkwardly. "I needed to ask you—" he breaks off, blushing, taking a deep breath he continues, "I—I needed to ask you if you could do something for me?"

Confusion must be evident on my face because he's quick to explain. "I was wondering, if you—if you'd...watch out for her, you know, in the Capitol? Just make sure she's safe and all right."

Gale speaks so quietly I struggle to hear him. But I can tell it's costing him a lot to ask me this. He's like Katniss in that way. Too proud, never the one to ask for help, yet despite that he's here anyway. He's here for her.

He shakes his head disgustedly. "I don't even know why I'm here. I'm so stupid. What did I think—I mean, what can you do?" He turns away and his face is flushed red. "How can you help her?" he whispers to himself.

I'm stunned. Here's the person I considered an enemy not thirty seconds ago, begging me to take care of the girl we both love. Actually, stunned is an understatement—I'm flabbergasted.

He's still looking away, his arms shaking slightly. At my silence he shakes his head again and makes for the door without another word.

"Gale," I surprise myself by speaking out. "I'll do it. I'll make sure she comes home." The conviction in my voice echoes in the room.

He turns around slowly, the mix of shock and hope evident in his eyes. "W-what?"

"She'll come home."

A small smile breaks across his face, and he strides forward to place his hands on my shoulders. His eyes, so full of emotion, burn into mine. "Truly? You will?"

I nod in confirmation. His arms pull me into an embrace. "Thank you so much, Peeta. I—I don't know what to say. I—"

"It's fine, Gale, I understand." I interrupt him. He doesn't know how much I actually do understand.

His body tenses and he pulls away, his face downward, no longer happy. "No, no, you shouldn't be doing this," he whispers loud enough for me to hear. "I should have volunteered for you and gone with her. I could've—"

I cut him off again. "No, you couldn't have, Gale." I try to convince him. "Think about your family. You couldn't just leave them." I know he knows that, but he still feels guilty. "Don't worry, Gale. I'll find a way for her to get home. You can trust me."

He nods.

"Now, go visit Katniss. I bet she's waiting for you."

Gale shakes his head and swipes his eyes. "You're right," he says and heads toward the door. He opens it and steps out before turning back to me. "Thank you so much, Peeta. I don't know how I can I ever make it up to you," he stares at me quietly for a few seconds, his grey eyes saying so much, before he turns and lets the door fall shut with a tiny click.

Finally alone I collapse into a chair. My eyes are still red and swollen from my family's visit. I don't bother trying to mask it, if it makes the other tributes underestimate me—it will be their downfall.

I sit in silence mulling over my thoughts until I finally hear the quiet steps of the Peacekeepers. It's time to go; I stand and wait for the impact of sadness to hit me. It doesn't come. Although I know I will miss District 12 and my family and friends, right now I'm more concerned with Katniss and figuring out a way to keep her alive.

Because she has to live. There is no other option.

* * *

**A/N**: I forgot to mention that I 'borrowed' the names Miri and Peder from the the amazing book Princess Academy. Huge kudos to you if you figured that out. ;)

Thanks for reading, and I hope you tell me what you think in a review. (Hint, hint).


	3. True Beauty

_Disclaimer: Poor, highschool tenager...Yep, not Suzanne Collins._

* * *

The train starts to move as we make our way down the spacious and richly decorated hallway. The Justice Building has nothing on this.

Effie Trinket leads me to my set of chambers - yes, chambers. Apparently people need multiple rooms for a day long journey. It's a bit absurd if you ask me.

Either way, I now stand in my bedroom, which is by far the grandest room I've ever been in. Far mare fancier than the Justice Building and the hall combined.

The carpets are a plush tan that mold to my feet as I walk across to the single large window.

We are moving so fast that everything is a blur of flashing colors. I wonder what District we are in, is it still 12? I have no way of knowing.

There's a knock at the door. Supper already? I cross back over and open it expecting to see the bright, shining face of Effie Trinket, instead I'm greeted with an highly intoxicated Haymitch.

"Hullo, kid." His breathe washes over me. Yep - definitely drunk. "That woman wanted me to tell you to be at the dinning hall in half an hour. So don't be late, you hear? I do not need her hollering at me again." His gruffy voice says exasperatingly. "Really, it's not like I tried to fall off.." he grumbles as he makes his way down the corridoor. "Oh!" He turns abruptly, "don't expect me at supper, I'm off to a nap! And maybe when I wake up this will all be done with already…" And then he's gone as quick as he came.

I shut my door and lay down on the bed, glancing around the room. There are two dressers against the wall with the window, filled with fancy clothes, no doubt. Next to the farthest wardrobe is a doorway, I can see a large shower through the opening.

That sounds good. I've never used a shower before, and I've rarely bathed in warm water. I head towards the bathroom, suddenly excited, and turn on the hot water.

When I step out, it's nearly ten minutes before I'm expected for supper. I hurriedly ruffle through the massive amount of clothes in the dresser nearest to me and pull out a simple black shirt and matching trousers. Dressing, I quickly towel dry my hair, and then I'm off.

_Hmm…where exactly is dinner?_ I look around confused. I spot a man dressed in complete white walk out of a door down the hall. I run to him, and tap his shoulder.

"Excuse me, Sir. Can you please show me to the dining room?"

He nods, expressionlessly, and quietly leads the way in the opposite direction.

"So," after an awkward, silent minute, I try to make conversation. "What's the Capitol like? You live there, right?"

He does not even look at me. I take the hint and stay quiet.

Not even a minute later, he stops in front of a large archway. Bowing slightly, he motions with his hand for me to enter. I walk into a large dining room with polished paneled walls. A huge table is in the middle of the space, laden down by a bounty of glass dishes. I sit down in a velvety chair, leaving an empty seat next to me.

A couple seconds later, Effie Trinket walks in and Katniss, changed from her beautiful dress, trails in behind her. I stare at her too long. She glances at me, curious. I avert my eyes.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie Trinket, as peppy as usual.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I reply, focusing my eyes on her, so as not to have Katniss catch me ogling her again. She'd start to suspect something, and if she ever found out, it would just make her feel unnecessarily uncomfortable. The task to keep looking anywhere but at her is made harder when I feel her presence sit down in the empty seat beside me.

I watch Effie Trinket's mouth move, but I do not listen to what she's saying. I'm to preoccupied with my racing thoughts.

The meal comes in endless courses. I've never seen so much food on one table. I eat everything that the silent man in white puts onto my plate. I hear Effie Trinket telling me to save room, that there's still more to come, but I don't stop. It's the best food I've ever tasted.

At one point, Effie Trinket casually says she's glad we have good manners and how the pair last year ate like "savages". I don't need to look at Katniss to see her stiffen up at that comment. I notice, she then makes a point of eating as rudely as she can for the rest of the meal. Even going so far as to use the expensive tablecloth as a napkin. And for some reason, I find that incredibly endearing.

~/~/~/~/~/~

I now regret eating so much. My stomach is not used to such rich food. Katniss seems to be faring the same way. Not that I'm staring at her or anything.

We move to another compartment to watch the recap of all the District's reaping ceremonies. I examine each face of our future opponents, trying to sort out in my head who will be Katniss's biggest threats, and to decide who I should eliminate first. A ferocious looking boy from District 2, who knocked over a dozen kids in his enthusiasm to volunteer is a candidate. The other is an even larger, quiet boy who was selected from District 11.

And then I take note of the weaklings, the ones who will never be a threat to her, the ones I would never have the heart to kill. A boy with a crippled leg from 10. A small girl who is sobbing quietly from District 6. And then most memorable, a small girl from 11, who couldn't pass for older than ten - forget twelve.

The little girl must remind Katniss of Prim because her eyes harden and she sinks further into the couch.

Our ceremony is the last shown. I relive my worst memory again as I hear Katniss's agonized plea to volunteer. And just like then, I stare at her standing all alone on the stage - tall and brave and proud - and can't look away. I keep my eyes on her as Haymitch makes his famous nosedive off the stage, and I notice how she takes a deep breath when the cameras aren't focused on her. I'm momentarily shocked and confused when I watch a wave of pure horror cross her face at the sound of my name being drawn.

_What was that about_? I find myself wondering. I dismiss all the hopeful thoughts shooting through my brain. I keep repeating, she was just surprised. It meant nothing. Nothing. I strain, though, to keep the hope from blossoming.

It's not like we'd ever be able to have a relationship. Nothing could come from it. It'd be just like adding salt to a gaping wound - another unnecessary pain, a pain that I wouldn't mind avoiding.

Anyway why am I even considering a _relationship_? She probably made that face because she knew me, 'knew' being a very loose term in this case, and didn't want to be sent on death-trip with someone she'd gone to school with for years. Yeah, that was it. Nothing more than pity. Pity at the rotten luck. She had no hidden feelings for me. And even though I already knew that, it still hurt.

Back on screen, the anthem comes to an end, and the commentators tell the audience to try and tune in tomorrow for the opening ceremonies. Try. Ha, that's amusing... Like they even have a choice.

Effie Trinket is fretting about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

For some reason I find her comment funny, and I unexpectedly laugh out loud. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year." I joke.

"Every day." Katniss adds. I can't help but look over at her and grin. She smirks back, her eyes humorous.

Effie Trinket is upset at our outburst. "Yes," she says quietly, maliciously. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Haymitch chooses this moment to enter the compartment. "I miss supper?" He slurs, his words close to incomprehensible. He then vomits all over the white carpet and collapses on the mess.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket gleefully. She then daintily steps around the vomit and leaves us to deal with our mentor.

~/~/~/~/~/~

I watch, disgusted, as Haymitch tries to stand up but slips again. I exchange a glance with Katniss. And by some unspoken agreement we both help him to his feet. As much as it pains me to say that Effie Trinket was right, she was. Once we are in the arena, he's all we've got.

"I tripped?" He asks, rubbing a soiled sleeve over his face. "Smells bad."

"Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a little bit." I suggest.

We then drag Haymitch to his compartments and plop him down in the tub. Katniss turns the shower on him, and he does not even seem to notice.

I suddenly realize how awkward this was going to get for her. No one wants to strip down a fat, old man, and then proceed to help him shower. Especially not a girl. I mean, it'll still be pretty gross for me, but I can at least deal with it. Katniss would be scarred for life.

"It's okay," I tell her. "I'll take it from here."

She looks relieved, and then suspicious. "All right, I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No. I don't want one." I don't feel like dealing with a person who doesn't speak right now. At least Haymitch groans every once in awhile.

After I shower away all traces of the vile smelling vomit from his body, I pick out a fresh pair of night clothes, and support him to his bed. Once he is situated, I turn the lights off and leave.

Back in my room, I strip off my shirt and climb under the thick blanket on the bed. I roll over so I'm looking out the window. I can just make out lights. Must be another district.

I turn over so I'm laying on my back, and find myself wondering what Katniss is doing at the moment. Is she sleeping? Or is she thinking about her family? Is she thinking about Gale? And sometime during all the speculating, I fall asleep.

I wake up to Effie Trinket's voice reverberating through the room, "Wake up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I find myself wondering as I stumble out of bed if she really is as idiotic as she puts off. I think so.

I throw on a loose, silky red shirt and push my hair around on my head with my hands. Entering the dining car, I realize Haymitch is already up. I would have thought he'd be in bed all morning with a hang over. Apparently not.

I sit down next to him and am immediately served with an enormous plate of food. A mug of hot liquid is placed in front of me, and I sniff it, curious.

"It's called hot chocalate," Haymitch supplies. "A sweet drink. Try it, you'll like it."

I take a timid sip. A shudder runs through me. It's delicious.

Effie Trinket is fixing herself a cup of coffee and glances up just as Haymitch is adding some sort of clear liquid to his juice. She makes an exasperated sigh, "Can you not go a single hour without drinking?" She nearly screams.

"Aww, Sweetheart, are you still sore about the whole reaping ceremony? It's not my fault your wig has a mind of it's own, now is it? How about you just lighten up? Heh, what do you say?"

She stalks out of the room mumbling obscenities under her breath, coldly brushing past Katniss on her way in.

Still chuckling, Haymitch beckons for her to sit down. She, too, is served a platter of food. I see her staring curiously at a mug.

"They call it hot chocolate," I tell her. "It's good."

She takes a sip and smiles beautifully. Then sits there, ignoring the rest of her food until she drains the last of it.

I laugh inwardly. She's so amusing and unpredictable. I could watch her for hours. Best not to, though, probably freak her out. I dunk a piece of toast into the chocolate. It's even better that way. I happily continue eating my breakfast until Katniss breaks the silence.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." She says. She sounds like she's been thinking about this for awile.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He bursts into laughter.

Not funny. I feel my blood run cold. You do not joke about the Games, especially with two kids who are about to be thrown into them. I'm suddenly very, very angry that he'd laugh off her plea for assistance. That he'd just let her die.

"That's very funny," I say sarcastically. Unthinkingly, I lash at the glass in his hand. It shatters, sending bloodred liquid everywhere. "Only not to us."

Then I'm flying off my seat. Pain in my jaw. I've had a lot worse, though. I hear a dull thump from the table. And Haymitch exclaiming, "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Curious I rise and sit back at the table, reaching for the ice.

"No," says Haymitch, stopping me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I interject.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

I look at them, confused. Then it dawns on me. That thump, she must have come close to stabbing him with her knife. It's standing handle-up, the blade stuck in the grain of the table. She yanks it out, gets a solid grip, and then throws it at the opposite wall. It sticks. Not only that, but it lodges between the seam of two panels. I had no idea she had such an excellent aim with a knife. I mean, I knew she's good with a bow, but a knife too? That's impressive.

"Stand over here. Both of you," orders Haymitch, nodding towards the middle of the room. We do as he says, and then he's examining us. He lifts up my arms and feels the muscles I've gained from the Bakery. He then is gazing critically at our faces and structure. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I'm a little peeved that he just insulted Katniss's looks, however slight the insult was.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say."

It's a hell lot better than nothing, I guess. "Fine," I agree. I hope he really will help us.

"So help us," Katniss says quickly. "When we get to the arena…"

He interrupts her. Telling her to take one step at a time. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put into the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist." He says, ominously.

She starts to protest.

"No buts. Don't resist." He then leaves the room. The car goes dark except for a few lights. We are passing through the tunnel that leads to the Capitol.

We stand in complete silence in the dark. I try to come up with something funny and witty to lighten the mood, but my mind draws a blank. I want to tell her so much, except I have no way to know how.

The train starts to slow down and our car is suddenly flushed with light again. We both run to the window and gaze out, identical masks of shock on both of our faces. It's about as different from home as you can get. Buildings that reach so high into the sky I can't see the tops; cars in all hues buzzing up and down the paved streets. And the people! So different from District 12's population with their freakish painted bodies and colored wigs. It's unnatural and so completely disturbing. They're like a whole different species, not human, alien-like.

The people recognize us as the last tribute train and all point and wave. Katniss steps away from the window, disgusted. I stay, smiling and waving back at the large crowd. Our future sponsors may be somewhere in there, and I intend to make them like us.

I pull away when we reach the station, and meet Katniss's slightly sickened look. "Who knows?" I say nonchalantly. "One of them may be rich."

~/~/~/~/~/~

I've been in the Remake Center for hours, though it has seemed longer. All I've been doing is standing still while my prep team - Volvio and Corvetta - work their magic on me.

Now I'm standing on a small podium, completely naked while they circle around me removing any traces of hair.

Volvio, a short man whose body has been died a light blue and hair a shocking pink, steps back from me. "You know, Corvetta, I think we have a good one here! Now that he's clean, he's not that bad looking."

"You're right, Volvio, this one at least has a body," says Corvetta, winking at me. She puts a purpled finger to a her chin, thinking. "I still think he'd look better pink, but Portia was pretty adamant on him being 'natural'. Whatever that means."

I silently thank Portia again in my head. If she wasn't the leader of this group, I'd have been turned into some sort of alien. With pink skin. I shudder at the thought.

"Let's go call Portia!" They say, clapping their hands in unison.

"We'll be right back, honey!" Corvetta shouts as they both dart out of the room.

Both of them are so completely stupid, it's hard to resent them. Although it was a lot easier when they were stripping me of my chest hair. I'm still standing in the middle, completely nude. I want to go grab my robe, but am interrupted when the door is thrown open again.

"Here he is! Isn't he a nice looking one? When we're done with him, he'll look magnificent." Both Corvetta and Volvio are shouting praises at the same time, I can't tell who is saying what, their voices sound the exact same - gross and high pitched.

The woman, Portia, I think, lays a hand on both of their shoulders. "Why don't you two go take your lunch break? I'll call you back when we are going to get started again." Her voice is also high, like the rest of the Capitol, except her demeanor is calm, more collected then the air-headed prep team.

After they exit, she hands me my robe and leads me to a small table in the corner. She presses a button, and not even a second later, our meal is raised up to us. She starts to eat, and I take a moment to examine her. She's young, and devoid of any inking or tattooing, she looks normal. Her hair is a natural red, and her skin as pale as mine. When she looks up at me, I notice something different though. Her eyes are purple, almost violet in the light. I wonder what she does to make them that color. Do they dye eyes here, too?

I start to eat. It's good, better than the train food. I'm distracted for a few minutes. When I finish, she starts to talk. "So, Peeta, about tonight." Her voice is thrilled. "My partner, Cinna, is fixing up Katniss and we've decided to dress you in complementary outfits. Isn't that exciting!" She pauses to gauge my reaction. I smile brightly at her, I can't help but like her. "The costumes are going to reflect District 12's economy!"

Oh, well that's just fantastic. Another coal miner get up. We'll be sure to win so many sponsors. Yeah right. I compose my voice to be less sarcastic, "So we'll be dressed like coal miners?"

She looks like she's going to explode from excitement. "No, not exactly…" She laughs. "We feel as if that look has been over done in the past... We are going to go beyond the standard. And focus on the coal itself."

_Oh well that is _so_ much better. We'll be painted black and in the nude_.

"And what do we do with coal? We burn it!" She looks positively giddy. "This will be something no one has ever seen before!" As an afterthough she adds,"now, you're not afraid of fire are you?"

~/~/~/~/~/~

The team was finally finished with me nearly four hours later. I'm dressed in a black, skin tight unitard that covers my entire body. I'm in black boots, too. My cape is what will make this outfit though, made up of reds, yellows, oranges and blues. It looks like my back is on fire.

It's not…yet. I remind myself grimly.

We go to our set of rooms and Katniss is already there, accompanied by her team. Strikingly beautiful in the same black clothes as me. Everyone is alive with excitement for tonight.

We're taken to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is basically one huge stable. It's about to start; tributes are piling into their horse-drawn chariots. We are led to the twelfth and last cart in the line.

Portia and Cinna carefully place us in our chariot. Before consulting with each other quietly.

"What do you think?" She whispers to me. "About the fire?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I attempt to make a joke.

With all seriousness, she says, "Deal." I look at her, and she's truly frightened. I don't think I've seen her scared, except for yesterday, of course, when Prim was drawn. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Her comment makes me realize that he's not with us. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

She cracks a smile. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around open flame," she says.

And suddenly we're both laughing and leaning on each other for support. For some reason it relieves the tension, joking at our mentor's expense. I'm just glad to see that the terror is gone from her face.

The opening music starts. They slide open the doors, revealing the massive crowds that await. One by one the carts roll out of the stable, each met with tremulous applause, until it's only us and District 11 left.

Cinna appears at our side with a lighted torch. And before I can even muster up some nervousness, he's set our capes and headdresses on fire. I expect to feel heat, but instead I feel a gentle tickling sensation.

I hear Cinna's relieved voice mutter, "It works." Well that's sure reassuring. Glad we were your first test subjects. He puts his hand under Katniss's chin, gently tilting it up. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" He jumps down and has one last idea. The music is too loud to hear what he is saying, but from his motions I'd guess he wants us to hold hands.

She turns to me speaking, and I see her for the first time ablaze with flame. She is beyond words. Her face is dazzling in the light, she literally takes my breathe away. Still looking at me, I realize she asked me a question.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I say. Quickly, before I lose my nerve, I grab her right hand. I can't help but notice how soft and small they are, before we are pulled into the city.

You can tell the crowd is first alarmed with our appearance but it quickly changes to cheers and yells. Every single head is turned our way, or I should say her way. Dazzled, as I am, by her beauty.

I catch a glance at us in the big screen. We appear to be leaving a trail of fire behind. The darkening sky makes us glow brighter, stand out farther. The burning headdresses look like shining hair, curling and twisting into the night.

The crowd is shouting, and I'm still frozen. I grip her hand tighter. She's the anchor keeping me from falling off this chariot. I look at her again. She's blowing kisses to the crowd, and they are going wild. I hear our names being shouted again and again. While they shower endless flowers at us. No one is paying attention to the tributes in front of us. We are, literally, the stars of the night.

This is good for us - for her. We will have sponsors lining up now. No doubt about it.

She catches a red rose, and puts it to her nose, smelling it. Blowing a kiss to the crowd, hundreds of hands reach out to catch it. They are in love with her. No one is shouting my name now. It's only Katniss they care about. And who can blame them? She is exquisite, so care-free and happy, and so…beautiful, inside and out. And I'm just standing there, a shadow to her brilliance, and I am perfectly content with that.

As we pull into City Circle, she realizes we are still holding each other's hands. She tries to untangle them, but I keep my grip on her. "No, don't let go of me," I beg. "Please, I might fall out of this thing."

She nods, understanding. "Okay," and holds on to me tighter. I'm so thankful, I really doubt I could stand if she let go now.

The chariots form a loop around President Snow's mansion. The music ends with a big bravado.

During the President's speech, the cameras cut away to each tributes chariot. I can tell we are getting more of our share of airtime. As the anthem plays, they make a quick cut to the others before they train back in on us, as we circle around one last time. With the night getting darker, it's harder to take your eyes off of us.

We pull into the Training Center, and the doors shut behind us, silencing the thunderous crowd. We only just enter when we are surrounded by the prep teams, indecipherable in their giddiness. Then suddenly Portia and Cinna are there, taking off our headdresses and capes, and extinguishing them.

The other tributes are glaring at us. We've literally outshone them all. No one will forget our names for a long time. Next year's ceremony will have a lot to approve upon.

We separate our hands, massaging them. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting shaky there." I tell her.

"It didn't show, I'm sure no one noticed." It's funny, she's actually sincere.

"I'm sure no one noticed anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I shyly smile at her. _Idiot! Why would you say that? _

She blushes and comes towards me. Stepping on tiptoe she kisses my cheek. Her lips are pressed there for only a few seconds, but it's enough to make my pulse pound and my heart race.

_Why does she have this effect on me?_

* * *

**A/N:** _And one final note, my best friend (BlackSunAtMidnight) has posted her story, Caelum Temptatio, in the fairy tale section. I hope everyone tries it out. It's really good. :)_

_Thanks for reading and please review!_

_-Stars_


	4. The Plan

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. I do, however, own the heaping bowl of Captain Crunch in front of me. I bet you're all jealous._

_This chapter is dedicated to:_

_pandatwilightchicka!_

_Simply because she is made of awesome and likes James Franco._

* * *

Stupid girls. And stupid girly, confusing ways. Stupid kisses.

Why would she do that? Did she realize my feelings and decide to put me down the easy way? Then why would she kiss me? It makes no sense!

Stupid girls. Why must they be so damn confusing?

It's two in the morning, and I'm still wide awake. And it's all Katniss's fault.

I throw back the covers in annoyance. It's no use. I'm not going to be falling asleep anytime soon.

Stupid girls. Stupid kisses.

I throw on the shirt I'd worn to supper. Might as well take a walk. When I step out of the door, I realize I don't know where anything is. I decide to just start walking. Who cares? It's not like anyone is up.

After about five minutes, I see an open door at the end of the hall. Lights are on and I hear noises. I stop dead in my tracks.

Who could be up? Curiosity overpowers common sense, as I silently tiptoe to the door. Reaching it, I slowly and stealthily peer around the frame to see… An empty room with a T.V. playing. I step into the opening.

"Peeta!" I jump a foot in surprise. Heart pounding, I turn to see Cinna behind me holding a bowl of popcorn. "What are you doing up? It's late."

"I - I couldn't sleep." I stutter, my pulse still racing.

Cinna nods, understandingly. "Neither could I. I was just about to watch a movie, care to join me?"

The thought of watching a mindless movie does sound appealing. It would make me forget about that stupid kiss. But for some reason, I don't want to sit around and pretend that nothing is wrong. Pretend that I'm not here in this unbelievable mess. Pretend that I don't care.

"No, not tonight." With that statement I realize how limited my nights are. How many more will I live through? Eight? Ten? I have no idea, and that scares me. The brave, self-sacrificing front I put up during the day disappeared with the setting sun.

_I don't want to die._ I suddenly think. But then I'm disgusted with myself. With my weakness. _Would you rather Katniss die?_ No, of course not. I just need to stop thinking.

"Would you like some fresh air?" Cinna must have noticed the struggling on my face.

Yes. That's exactly what I need. I tell him that, and he quietly nods and sets the bowl of popcorn on a small table. "I'll take you to the roof then," He says, mostly to himself.

He leads me back down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. The room we enter into has a dome-shaped ceiling, and besides the open door, it's empty of furniture. We step outside and the wind hits me. I shiver slightly - but not from the cold - the view here is spectacular.

Lights, millions upon millions of bright, shining lights. You would have no idea it was night, if it wasn't for the crescent moon hanging low in the sky.

I can't see any stars.

This makes me miss home. I used to sit for hours after everyone had gone to bed, just sitting there looking at the stars. When I was little, I would name my own constellations and make up stories for each one. I still remember most of them.

I've moved towards the ledge without realizing. I look down and notice how far a jump that would be. Surely it would mean death. I briefly consider jumping. But I'd never be so cowardly. I'd never let them, the Capitol, win. Not like that. Not a chance.

Others would surely do it, though. The frightened ones. What's to stop them? I, too, would rather take that death, a quick one, rather than waiting, knowing you were going to die.

"Why are they letting us up here? Couldn't we just throw ourselves over the side?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He smiles, "No you can't." He then sticks his hand into the air above the ledge. There's a loud snap and he retracts his hand, shaking the feeling back into it. "There's an electric fence that surrounds the entire building, successfully stopping any suicide tempts," says Cinna, in a conversational tone.

But I don't feel like talking.

The wind blows strongly, swiping my hair into my face. And then I hear it. A very pretty, musical sound. I'm just about to ask Cinna what is making that noise, when he points over my head at something behind me. I turn to look, and I see a small little garden on the other side of the dome. Hundreds of wind chimes are swaying on the branches of drooping trees. Now that I'm listening, the sound they make is deafening.

It's loud enough to drown out a person's thoughts. And that's exactly what I need right now.

Cinna leaves soon after, and I just sit there. Not moving. Not thinking. An hour or so later, I awake from the trance and walk back to my room. Finally able to get some sleep.

~/~/~/~/~/~

The morning flashes by and soon we're sitting at lunch listening to Effie Trinket "ooh" and "ahh" over our performance the night before, while simultaneously talking all about herself.

"I've been very mysterious, though," Effie Trinket tells us. "Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

Apparently, Effie here, has been buttering us up to "everyone who is anyone" in the Capitol. And by the stories she tells, you would think she knew every single "someone" personally. She's even best buds with President Snow, in fact, she has brunch with him every Sunday.

"Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'"

I stare, dumfounded for a second. Clever indeed, Effie Trinket, clever indeed. Hopefully, whoever she's been talking to will still sponsor us, even though our escort is as dumb as a sack of pearls.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," says Effie, her eyes squint half shut. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

I really, really wish I could see that.

Later that afternoon, I'm resting on my bed, thinking about home. I can't help but think of Miri. How is she? How's the baby? Will she watch the opening ceremony?

Well, of course she will. She has no choice. But, what will she think? I wish I could talk to her.

I need someone - anyone - to talk to.

And yet, there is no one. Not one person. Not Katniss, she doesn't need to hear me whining while her plate is just as full as mine. Not Haymitch, ha - that's laughable. As if he'd be sober enough to even hear what I was saying. No, I have no one.

No family, no friends.

No one.

I've never felt more alone.

~/~/~/~/~/~

Dinner comes quick. I'm glad, I need some company. When I enter, I see Portia and Cinna gazing out over a balcony. I join them. Cinna looks at me and smiles politely, silently acknowledging our late night walk. I nod back to him.

Shortly after, Katniss and Effie arrive, and we sit down to eat. A silent man in white offers me some wine, I decline. I never liked the stuff.

I notice, amusedly, that Katniss takes some. I bet she's never had a mouthful in her life. She takes a sip and makes a sour face. I chuckle quietly to myself.

Just as the soup is being served, Haymitch walks in, showered and groomed. It's the nicest I've ever seen him look.

We're served course after course again, and just like before, I can't stop myself from shoveling everything down my throat. I eat everything. I don't pay attention to the conversation tonight. It's not as interesting with Cinna and Portia here, they stop the other two from arguing. And, really, their petty fights are the only entertainment I get in this hellhole.

Another silent girl in white - how many are there? - places a cake on the table. The simple but elegant design on the frosting is way beyond my skill. Maybe when I get home I'll try to mimic it. But then, harshly, I remember - I'm not going to make it back.

The girl sets the cake on fire. I'm momentarily sad that she's ruining the pretty design, that is until I hear Katniss's reaction.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" I restrain myself from laughing because she's completely serious. "That's the last thing I wa - oh! I know you!"

Wait, what? I'm confused.

Apparently, so is the rest of the table. They are staring at her like she's mentally ill. "Don't be ridiculous, Katniss." I hate her condescending tone. "How could you possibly know an Avox?" asks Effie severely

What did she just say? Yet again, I'm confused. "What's an Avox?" asks Katniss for the both of us.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," replies Haymitch.

These people are so civilized. Really, it astounds me. But why should it? This is the same ruthless and insane group who's joy in life is watching kids kill each other. Of course they would cut out people's tongues. What wouldn't they do?

"She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." continues Haymitch.

But she does - or did. I can tell by the look on her face, the panic in her eyes. She knows this silent girl. And that's dangerous, way to dangerous.

"And even if you did," cuts in Effie. "You're not to speak to them unless it's to give an order." She shakes her head. "Of course, you don't really know her."

I see her struggling to come up with an excuse for her outburst.

And I am too.

"No, I guess not," she stammers. "I just -"

I get an idea. With a fake show of inspiration, I snap my fingers. "Dellie Cartright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized, she's a dead ringer for Dellie.

I probably could of come up with a better name, but I was thinking quickly and that short, sweet girl was the first female name that came to mind.

Katniss catches on very fast, "Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

Dellie Cartright has bright yellow hair, and is about the polar opposite of our pretty server. The others don't know that, though. I'm just glad Katniss caught on so quickly, if she hadn't, I don't know what would have happened.

I put a pensive face on, might as well make it convincing. "Something about the eyes, too."

The tension at the table disappears.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cinna. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol burned off. I ordered it specially for your fiery debut." And that's all it takes to get the conversation along again.

The cake is delicious. Not only is ten times prettier than any thing at home, it's ten times tastier. I can't make out the flavoring. Something we'd never be able to recreate at home, even if we did nail down the frosting, this taste is distinctly Capitol.

When we are done, we move into the same room Cinna was in the night before to watch the broadcasting of the opening ceremonies.

My family is no doubt watching it also. All of them crammed into the small room off the kitchen. I wonder what Miri's thinking? Is she excited? Scared? Nervous? Probably all of that. I wish I could tell her not to worry. Tell her it's alright, that I know what I am about to do. Tell her I'm okay with it, and that she needs to be too.

District 11 is rolling out. The small girl - Rue, is it? - is dwarfed by the tall boy beside her. You can obviously tell their stylists were not working cohesively together.

Rue is dressed in a soft, yellow dress with matching fruit blossoms in her hair. It makes her look cute and innocent, and all together to little for what she's about to be thrown into.

Thresh, however, looks the exact opposite. Though the same color, the shirt he wears is made to emphasize his broad shoulders and big muscles. He looks very intimidating, with no emotion whatsoever crossing his face.

And at that moment we come out. Just like the people in the audience, my head snaps towards us. We look incredible. There's a gasp of silence, and then the cheers and shouts are at their highest pitch of the night.

Compared to us, the other tributes are drab and boring and forgettable.

We are on fire.

I can't look away. I'm standing there stone-like, while Katniss is alive with excitement. Blowing kisses, catching roses, smiling beautifully. She looks incredible.

Embarrassingly, I notice how, for the rest of the ride, I kept my eyes on her, an adoring smile on my face.

No one will notice that, though. I remind myself. They are all to busy looking at her also.

"Who's idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch, breaking my thoughts.

"Cinna's," replies Portia.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch. "Very nice."

His question pulls my attention to our interlocked hands, and I'm suddenly remembering what if felt like to hold hers. I feel my cheeks growing warm, and furiously shake my head.

_Enough_! I quietly reprimand myself.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," says Haymitch, looking intensely at Katniss and me. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

Wow. Haven't heard that one in awhile. Thought I'd grown out of the whole "let the grown-ups talk" phase years ago. Guess not.

Oh well, at least it will give me time to figure out how Katniss knows that silent Avox girl.

We start walking down the corridor to our rooms. All the while, I'm trying to come up with a way to bring up the Avox girl again. We reach her door, and I still don't know what I'm going to do. I lean against the door on instinct, hoping for a casual and nonchalant effect.

"So Dellie Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." _Smooth. Real smooth_.

I watch her face. I can tell she is silently struggling with herself. Debating whether or not she should trust me, open up to me. She's staring down the corridor, I can tell her resolve is weakening - she's hesitating.

"Have you been to the roof yet?"

She shakes her head no.

"Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The winds a bit loud, though."

She easily reads through that to mean "we won't be overheard up there".

"Can we just go up?" she asks.

"Sure, come on." I lead her up the stairs and through the door to the outside.

She gasps as she walks out, amazed, as am I, by the view. Her head swivels left to right taking in the sprawling city.

I follow her as she walks to the railing. When she reaches the edge, she stares down at the street far below. You can faintly hear the sounds of the city, and now that I'm listening for it, I can also hear the ringing of a hundred hanging chimes.

I feel the need to make conversation. I want to talk with her, to try to understand what she's feeling. Is she scared like me? I would never be able to guess with the brave front she builds around herself.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?" It's the only thing I can think to say. She seems interested, however.

"What'd he say?" she asks.

"You can't." To demonstrate I stick my hand over the side. I hear the same sharp snap and a brief yet intense pain shoots through my arm. I yank it back. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," says Katniss, very sarcastically. She glances around thoughtful. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe." I honestly hadn't thought about it. They probably are. I try to dismiss the thought. "Come see the garden." They won't be able to hear us here.

I lead her to the other side of the dome, where the pretty garden rests. Here, in the middle of this wind chime forest, it will be impossible for the Capitol to listen in. I stare at her expectantly.

She smells a flower for the cameras before starting. "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game," she whispers.

"You and your father?" I knew the answer before she even shook her head.

"No, my friend Gale. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once." Her eyes have a far away look in them. As if she's reliving her memory. "Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their life depended on it."

She paused, a pained look on her face.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere, she continues, no emotion in her voice. Her face back to the mask of stone. "I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator." A haunted look comes to her eyes. "They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened." The haunted look had yet to leave her face.

I ask the only thing that comes to mind, though I've guessed the answer by the look on her face. The look of guilt and regret.

I ask anyway. "Did they see you?"

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock."

She is a terrible liar. I hope for her sake she never tries to gamble at cards. She'd lose every dime.

I look at her and notice she's shaking. It is pretty windy up here. "You're shivering." I don't think she's really listening, she is still to far stuck in her memories.

I remove my jacket and place it around her shoulders. She makes a sudden move as if to step away from my touch, but then must have decided against it, because she stays in my reach.

I keep her talking, as I button up the coat. "They were from here?'

She nods. I secure the last button and step away. I can't help but think about how much I like seeing her in my jacket. For a few moments I can imagine that I'm lucky enough to have her. I realize I'm staring again. To hide my embarrassment, I ask another question. "Where you suppose they were going?"

"I don't know that," she replies. "Or why they would leave here."

I'm filled with the sudden notion of disgust, imagining if I was stuck here forever. "I'd leave here." I say passionately. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to hear above the chimes. I struggle briefly to come up with a cover up. I laugh, "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime." I say loud enough so that the cameras can hear. Because no doubt they are trying to listen in. Now it just sounds as if I had a moment of weakness, like any other typical scared tribute.

She's still shivering, despite the jacket. "It's getting chilly. We'd better go in." I'd didn't realize I was cold until I saw her.

We walk through the dome and down the steps. I try to keep my tone light as I ask, "Your friend Gale . He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I don't know why I'm asking this. I guess I just want to know where she stands. Does she have feelings for him?

_What difference would it make? Do you enjoy pain?_

"Yes," she replies. Her face is unreadable, if she liked him she should be happy at the thought of him, shouldn't she? "Do you know him?"

_Do I know him? Of course I know him. Who hasn't heard of_ the _Gale?_

"Not really," I lie. "I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something." More like wishful thinking. "You favor each other," I say as a statement, not a question.

"No we're not related," she says.

I nod. Of course I know that. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?" I know that, too. But I want to keep talking to her, and if talking about Gale is the only way we can have a real conversation, well then hell, I'll talk about Gale for the rest of my life.

"Yes," she answers the question I already knew. "So did your father. He brought me cookies."

Well that's news to me. But then when I think about it, I'm not surprised. She is _her_ daughter after all. "Really? Well he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a household of boys." More like he wishes he had your mother instead of the witch he's stuck with. I choose not to say that aloud. "He knew your mother when they were kids." 'Knew' loosely translating too 'madly in love'.

"Oh yes. She grew up in town." I can tell she never heard stories about my father. At least not like I heard stories about her mother.

We reach her door then. She unbuttons my jacket and hands it to me. "See you in the morning then." She flashes a brief, fleeting smile.

"See you," I say. I nod my head, before heading to my own room. I'm not quite sure, but I think I'm asleep before my head hits the pillows.

~/~/~/~/~/~

The sun is shining brightly when I wake up. Stumbling blindly out of bed, I grab my towel an step into the shower. There are way too many buttons, especially this early in the morning. I push one that has a picture of a swirl on it. I'm immediately assaulted with a tornado of freezing cold water, spirally around me until I can't see through the wall of liquid. It finally stops a few minutes later, and I scramble out before the shower starts to attack me again.

Drying myself off, I notice clothes laying out for me on the bed. A simple black pair of trousers, and a loose fitting red tunic. Pulling them on, I head towards breakfast.

"Morning, kid," I hear the gruff voice of Haymitch behind me. I stop, letting him catch up with me.

"Hello, Haymitch. You're up early."

"First day of training," I'm surprised he's actually taking this seriously. "I have to make sure you two don't ruin the plan." He finishes.

"We have a plan?" I, the tribute, was not even aware that we had a "plan".

"All in good time, kid, all in good time," says Haymitch mysteriously.

We reach the dining hall, and I let him enter first. Stepping in after him, I notice Katniss sitting already. An empty plate beside her. I bid her good morning.

I walk towards the table covered in food, filling my plate with all it can hold. And then another. Sitting down, I start digging in. I don't resurface until I've finished several helpings of everything.

That's when I notice that we are wearing the same outfit. Is this part of the "plan"? How could we benefit from dressing the same?

Katniss is staring relentlessly at a roll in her hands. This is one of the few times I've seen her without her emotionless mask on. I can tell she's nervous.

Haymitch takes a flask out from somewhere underneath the table and takes a long draught of it. Leaning his elbows on the table, he sizes us up with his eyes. "So let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" asks Katniss. I'm confused too.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch.

I look towards Katniss. She's the only one who has any useful skills anyway, and it's not as if I don't know what they are. Liking someone for over a decade, generally leads to knowing a lot about the person. Katniss looks at me, questioning. "I don't have any secret skills. And I already know what yours are, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

She looks surprised at that. I wonder why? Either way she must be convinced because she tells Haymitch we'll train together. I nod in agreement.

"All right," starts Haymitch. "Give me some idea of what you can do."

Automatically, I reply, "I can't do anything." Before quickly tagging on, "Unless you count baking bread."

Haymitch looks unimpressed at my attempt at humor. "Sorry, I don't. Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch.

"Not really," interrupts Katniss. "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" He asks eagerly.

Of course she's good. She's basically been feeding my family with the meat she shoots for the past four years. Not to mention the fact that the butcher buys some of her catches as well. That say's a lot. Rooba is such a stickler about good meat, she only buys what she considers the best, and she has high standards. It's nearly impossible to make her satisfied. Katniss always manages.

Modestly, she says, "I'm all right."

I'm momentarily silenced. Haymitch needs to know our skills. How else will he give her good advice to ensure that she lives?

So, I decide to correct her. "She's excellent. My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even take down deer."

She looks surprised. Then suspiciously she asks, " What are you doing?"

I'm annoyed. First off, that she's trying to underrate herself. When doing so can threaten her life. And second, that she thinks I'm up to something for talking nicely about her. What have I ever done to make her so unwilling to be friends? All I've been doing since the age of five is trying to impress her. So why is she so untrusting?

"What are you doing," I reply. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

She's upset. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred pound bags of flour. Tell him about that. That's not nothing."

Instinctively, I snap back. "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't."

She ignores my comeback, and instead addresses Haymitch. "He can wrestle. He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

"What use it that?" I reply in disgust. "How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

Without skipping a beat she is hissing back, "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" She nearly shouts in true anger.

I'm angry too now. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows!" My mind draws forth my last memory of my mother, and in my anger I'm blurting that out too. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

"Oh, she meant you," she says waving her hand in dismissal.

"She said, 'She's a survivor that one.' _She_ is!" I repeat her words hotly. I still cannot believe my own mother thinks I will die. It still hurts. I shouldn't have brought it up.

Her eyes flash to mine, gazing intensely, and realizing the truth. Her voice drops down to a whisper - all anger gone from her face. "But only because someone helped me."

She's staring so intently at me, I know that she is remembering that day so long ago. That day I try so hard to forget. Sometimes, though, in the middle of the night, the image of her broken and defeated form - so close to giving up her will to live - haunts me.

I glance down at the bread in her hands and shrug. "People will help you in the arena," I say. "They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she says.

Who is she kidding? Does she honestly not know what people see when they look at her? But she really is not aware of the fact that people view her as a strong, brave, and self-sacrificing person. Not to mention extremely beautiful. I roll my eyes. Glancing at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." I refuse to look at her. No doubt, she's glaring at me, denying once again the truth.

After about a minute of awkward, tense silence, Haymitch says, "Well, then. Well, well, well." I suddenly realize Haymitch has been there the whole time, taking in our passionate fight. What does that do to his "plan"? "Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you good with trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares."

I roll my eyes. There she goes again. I don't comment, though. We don't need another disagreement today.

"That may be significant in terms of food." He turns to me. "And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes."

He now is talking to the both of us. "The plan's the same for both of you." Here we go again with this "plan". Haymitch continues, "Spend time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

We both nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."

_What? Why? This will only make it harder on her!_

We both start to object, but he hits the table making all the glass dishes jump. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss stalks out of the room. I'm about to follow her, but Haymitch puts a beefy hand on my shoulder stopping me.

"Hold on a minute, Peeta. I want to discuss something with you."

I turn to face him. "What?" I ask, confused. Why would he want to talk to me alone?

"So, how long have you had feelings for our dear Katniss?"

I feel my face flush.

_How? What? _

"I don't have feelings for her." I stammer. Unconvincing even to myself.

"Come now. I notice these things. Don't think I didn't see how you were staring at her all through the opening ceremony. You looked like a love-sick fool!" he laughs.

And that makes me mad. "So? What difference does it make how I feel? It's not going to change anything! Either way I die!" My voice rises a couple octaves.

"Whoa, now kid. Who said this can't help? You could pull on the heartstrings of every person in the Capitol if we play this right. They eat that rubbish up here by the buckets. We just need to figure out how to do this." He mumbles the last part to himself.

"I still don't understand how this can help us - help her."

"Think about it. Never before has a pair of tributes felt something for the other. If we could convince the audience it's real love, it'll be something new, something exciting! People would be clamoring from all over to sponsor you. You both would make it to the end with all the help. And then you could have whatever noble death you've been planning and she would be able to live. To go home."

He's saying exactly what I want to hear, but I think he may be right. The Capitol people would eat that stuff up. She would survive. I smile, that's all I need to support this plan fully.

"But remember, we still don't know how to convince them it's true." He reminds me, upon seeing my hopeful look.

Something connects in my brain. "The interviews!" I shout, scaring Haymitch. "It will be the perfect time. Everyone will be watching then!" I say excitedly.

A toothy grin overtakes his face. I think it's the first time I've ever seen him smile. "I think you have a good point there, kid. That would be the perfect time to ensure every single person is watching. We'll start coaching you soon, so it will be believable."

"But what about Katniss? Don't you need to coach her too?"

"No, no. It will look more realistic if she doesn't see it coming. That girl would never be able to act well enough to fool the crowd. And if you don't fool them, you're both dead."

It still makes me feel bad. She'll be completely ambushed. I frown at that thought.

He sees my face. "It's the only way, Peeta, you know that." He says in a strange, kind voice. "It'll all work out. And remember, this is the only way to guarantee she'll make it through."

That thought gives me resolve. I'll pull this off. If it's the only way to make sure she lives, I know I won't mess this up.

"Now you better be off, kid. It's almost time to meet Effie. You don't want to hear her lecturing you if you're late. I'll let you know when our first training will be." He reminds me.

I nod towards him but remain standing there, still thinking about how she won't die.

"Be off with you!" He shouts and shoves me out of the room.

I chuckle softly to myself as I make my way down to the elevator. All the while, thinking about the upcoming training with Haymitch.

These shall be a very few interesting days.

* * *

**A/N:** _Hey everybody! Please let me know what you think about this chapter! It would mean a lot. Oh, and let me know if you see any grammar mistakes, I couldn't send it to my beta today. But I posted it anyway, cause I didn't want to keep you all waiting. If you have some ideas that you think would be interesting, don't hesitate to share! Thanks for reading :)_

_Review! Review! Review!_

_-Stars_


	5. Betrayal

_Disclaimer: If I owned Peeta and Katniss, the ending of the book would have been a helluva lot happier._

_Sorry it took so long! Author's note at the bottom explains why._

_OH! And I wrote a one shot that can kind of be considered a companion to this story. It's basically Peeta's worst memory (hint: bread incident). Hope you check it out! Which is my nice way of saying, "YOU BETTER!" haha I'm kidding...a little. :)_

* * *

I've had enough of sitting here, pretending to be enjoying each other's company. She obviously can't stand me. In between the fake laughs - she sits there, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the scowl off her face. I can still see it, though.

Glancing up, I see a new source of distraction - a bucket of bread. Grabbing it, I dump the contents onto the table. The aroma of cooked bread reminds me of home. I sigh deeply.

"Look," I say. "They've made sure to have bread from each District." I point at a fish-shaped role. "You can tell this one's from District 4. See the seaweed cooked into it?" I'm trying to make my voice sound enthusiastic for the other listening ears.

Katniss looks down and nods. A fake, but still beautiful smile graces her face as she pretends to be engrossed in our conversation.

_Stupid Haymitch. Why does this have to be so awkward? _

"And there you have it," I say happily, piling them all back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot." She comments.

"Only about bread." I say. "Okay, now laugh as if I said something funny."

People glance at us. We must have been convincing.

With a smile on my face I whisper quietly, "All right, I'll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk."

She makes a sad face. It's almost comical, but then I remember the situation we are being forced into.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" she asks.

_Do you even have to ask? Of course you've never told me. We never talked before this whole _thing_ started, don't you remember?_

Calmly, though, I reply. "No, but it sounds fascinating."

She launches into her story. It's amazing to hear her tales, her adventures in a world I have never visited. And to think, I used to walk along that fence everyday, gazing into the forest, imagining wild creatures roaming around beyond its border. I never gathered the courage to actually cross the fence, but I loved watching it from the safe side - the town side. In fact, it's where I got half of my ideas for frosting decorations.

Her story ends at the same time lunch does. We walk back into the training room with the other tributes, being careful to keep up a playful banter.

I look toward her. "What next?" I ask. Yesterday, we hit four stations - knots, camouflage, fire starting, and knife throwing. This morning we only got through one. The edible plant test. Katniss was able to detect every single poisonous plant they presented. While, I, guessed correctly about one out of four times. Katniss stayed with me there the whole morning - never complaining even though she knew everything already - and actually tried to help me learn. Though it was useless. I'll probably accidentally kill myself five minutes into the game by eating something deadly. In fact, I'd bet money on the probability of that chance.

She looks around at all the stations. "We haven't tried spear throwing yet, plus, there will probably be a ton of spears in the arena. The audience love the gory battles those create."

"Spear throwing it is." I say as we head over to the station.

About twenty minutes into our lesson, I notice the little girl, Rue, standing behind us, silently watching. I saw her early this morning doing the exact same thing. I keep my eyes on her for the next ten minutes. She doesn't move.

Leaning into Katniss, I whisper into her ear, "I think we have a shadow."

She throws her spear and glances at the little girl. Her eyes soften a little bit. I pick up a spear and hurl it at the target, it hits it slightly off from the center. "I think her name is Rue." I whisper again.

She bites down on her lip. Glancing again at her. "What can we do about it?" She questions starkly.

Once again, she surprises me. "Nothing to do. Just making conversation." I won't try to again, believe me.

Rue follows us for the rest of the afternoon - never saying a word.

Dinner with Effie and Haymitch is horrific. I miss the meal with Portia and Cinna, no matter how boring the conversation was. They both drill us constantly over the course of the meal. I want the fighting back.

When we are finally excused, we both sprint out the doors. "Someone should get Haymitch a drink." I mumble.

Katniss lets out a beginning of a laugh before stopping herself. She turns to me and looks directly into my eyes. "Don't. Don't let us pretend when there's no one around."

"All right, Katniss."_ All right_. Without a word, I turn and head to my room alone.

~/~/~/~/~/~

I'm going to hit him. I swear I will. Just one more offensive comment, and I'll knock him unconscious.

"Are you even listening to me?" His snarky voice reprimands. "I'm the one wasting my time trying to help you, and you're not even listening to me!"

I turn my eyes to him, careful to keep the loathing out of them. "I'm listening, Haymitch."

"You better be," he threatens. "Now, here's the plan."

I've heard 'the plan' at least five times. I'm not stupid, I know what I'm doing. He feels the need, however, to constantly brief me on how to behave. I feel like screaming that I damn well know how to behave already. But, of course, I don't.

Instead of listening to him drone on, I start to think about Katniss.

'_Don't. Don't let us pretend when there's no one around.'_

That only makes me angrier. What is her problem? Why is she afraid? I don't understand, and it makes me upset.

"You got that, kid? We'll have our last coaching right before the interview."

I nod stonily. _Thank God, it's the last. I can't handle another one of these. _This is only the third meeting together, and I already wish I was in the arena instead of here - with Haymitch.

"Alright then, you better get some rest. Last day of training tomorrow." He puts his hand on my shoulder as we both stand. I resist the urge to shake it off. "You can do this, kid."

Again, I nod. I start to head out and walk to the door.

His voice stops me. "She doesn't know it yet, but she's a lucky girl. Katniss is. What you are about to do for her is truly amazing. She'll realize someday, Peeta."

Whoa. I'm stunned into silence. I realize then how much I want his words to be true. How much I want her to realize. I stand there in the doorway, my thoughts freezing me into place.

"Go to bed, Peeta," reminds Haymitch.

I smile slightly. There's the old Haymitch. Demanding and rude. I walk out the door and to my room. Crawling under the covers, I close my eyes and think about what Haymitch said. Unaware, I fall asleep mid-thought.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~

Training is over, and now we are all waiting in the dining room for our assessments. Katniss and I will be last, as usual. With the room full, we chatter mindlessly, keeping the image of friendship up. But as the room capacity slowly disappears, so does our conversation. Soon we are alone, and it is absolutely silent. I sit in the awkwardness, wishing it could be more natural. Me and her. Instead of a fantasy friendship, actually having a real one.

Why can't we? _Oh, yeah. We are in a fight to the death, and she considers me an enemy - just another person to kill._

My name is called, interrupting my thoughts. I stand, and Katniss looks up, catching my eyes. "Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights."

"Thanks. I will." That was unexpected. "You…" I struggle to come up with decent advice, "…shoot straight." _Wow. Clever._

I walk through the doors without looking back to see her expression. Stepping into the bright light I look toward the Gamemaker's table. Three or four are actually paying attention to me, the rest are talking and laughing and drinking among themselves.

This annoys me. On top of throwing us into an arena to die - they don't even give us the courtesy of judging fairly. No doubt, District 1 - 6 will have the best scores, as for the rest of us, we'll be lucky to score higher than a four.

Partly because I'm following the plan and partly because I just really want to throw something - I walk toward the weights.

Picking up a medium sized ball, I get a good grip, and throw it a few yards. It lands with a loud boom, and two more Gamemakers look in my direction, impressed.

Slightly more confident, I pick up the largest ball. Instantly, I realize this a lot heavier than the hundred pound sacks I lug around at home. If anything, this ball is twice their weight. I can't just set it back down, though. I try to adjust my grip and with a finally heave I throw it as far as I can. It lands with an ear-piercing crack two inches from my foot.

Face smarting, I glance toward the table. No one is watching now. Instead they have begun to sing a drinking song. Charming.

Too angry to do much of anything else, I start to throw the heavy weights around again, until one Gamemaker finally dismisses me. I drop my ball, and stalk out. No 'thank you' or a 'good bye'. If I tried to talk to them, I'd just start yelling - and then there'd be no chance of sponsors.

Angrily walking out the exit, I see the elevators to my right. One of the many Avox's calmly presses my floor. The elevator opens, seething I walk in and ride it all the way to the top. I step out into the seemingly empty hall.

But then I'm surrounded.

Effie and Portia are jumping around me, excitedly asking how it went and what I did. Cinna is standing to the side and smiling at the girls antics. He's the one that notices my frown, the tenseness in my shoulders.

"Let's go to the sitting room, shall we? Katniss will be up shortly, and then you two can interrogate them at the same time." He flashes a big grin. Effie and Portia seem slightly miffed, but follow us into the room nonetheless.

I notice Haymitch is sitting in the corner, a bottle of whiskey at his side. He looks up at us entering, his gaze focusing in on me. "Did you follow the plan?" He gruffly asks. "Or did you mess it up?"

My foul mood is only enhanced by his words. I say somewhat sarcastically, "of course, I followed your plan."

"Then what went - "

He's interrupted by the elevator door opening and the sound of loud, heart-wrenching sobs coming from the hallway.

Immediately, I'm on my feet and running toward the noise. I already know it's Katniss, and that only makes me sprint faster. I hear myself calling her name as I enter the room, but it's too late - she's gone. I can hear he feet pounding on the floor as she rushes to her room; she would never want anyone to see her cry. Knowing that, I stop. Haymitch and Effie, however, flash past me, trying to catch her. They didn't; I can already hear her door slamming.

I walk back into the sitting room and take a seat next to Portia. Her and Cinna are motionless, I can tell they feel uncomfortable.

Effie and Haymitch come back ten minutes later. Both of them sit down on the same couch without realizing it. I stifle a laugh at that.

The room is tense and quiet. I have had enough of sitting through awkward silences these past few days, and so I excuse myself to my bedroom.

"Dinner's in half an hour!" calls Effie warningly as I make my exit.

I have to walk past Katniss's room to get to mine. I strain my ears as I pass her door, but I hear nothing. Not a sound. I suppose that's good, I don't think I could handle hearing her cry. Katniss is always brave - always strong. Picturing her any other way is just…wrong. So completely out of character for her.

Stepping into the room, I head straight to the shower. That's exactly what I need right now. I'm careful to push a button that lets out a steady stream of hot water. I do not need another tornado incident.

The water massages my sore muscles, releasing the pent up tension. I wish I could spend forever in here. If there is an afterlife, it's most definitely a shower.

Reluctantly, I get out. If I'm late to supper, I'll have Effie breathing down my neck for the rest of the night.

When I enter the dining room, only Cinna is seated.

"Where is everyone?" I ask. I'm a little late, so I'm surprised that Effie isn't already here, tapping her foot in impatience.

"Effie went to get Katniss," he replies. "And Haymitch and Portia should be here any second."

Almost immediately after he finishes his sentence, Portia walks through the door, smiling brightly.

"Hello, Peeta! You excited for tonight?" she exclaims.

Not particularly, I feel like saying. My score will probably be below a 5, based on how many Gamemakers were actually paying attention.

"Yeah. Super excited." Portia doesn't catch on to my sarcasm, but Cinna does. He chuckles quietly, while she just looks at him confused.

Haymitch walks in at that moment, taking a seat at the head of the table. I can tell he's looking at me, but I avoid his gaze. I don't feel like talking with him. I keep my eyes on the doorway, waiting for Katniss to arrive. I want to know what happened. What made her break down?

Almost on cue, she walks in, Effie right behind her. She sits across from me without looking up from her feet. I stare at her, trying to catch her eyes.

We are served fish soup, which is way too salty for my taste. I down the full cup of water at my side, ridding my mouth of it's taste. I push the bowl away, and an Avox at my side takes it away. For a moment I feel bad. I hope I didn't offend him by not eating his soup.

But that thought is washed away when I see Katniss look up. I cast her a meaningful glance, raising my eyebrow in question. She understands what I'm trying to communicate, and gives a small shake of her head. _I'll tell you later_, she means.

The main course is served, and I make sure to eat every last crumb on my plate to make up for not liking the soup. Midway through the meal, Haymitch lets out a sigh. "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today." He's directing his question at Katniss, but I can tell she's still upset. I try to take the pressure off of her.

"I don't know that it mattered," I answer for her. "By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

He nods, approving. Katniss looks slightly more mollified.

"And you, sweetheart?" He questions her.

I take a gulp of water to try to hold back my laughter at her expression. She does not like being called sweetheart.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." I choke on my sip. Coughing, I sit up straight. My facial expression is probably hilarious at the moment.

Everyone stills. "You what?" Effie asks horrified.

"I shot an arrow at them," she replies, as if it was no big deal. "Not exactly at them. In their direction." She looks at me. "It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just…I lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!"

She never ceases to amaze me. I actually wish I had thought of it. Their expressions were probably classic.

Cinna asks the burning question. "And what did they say?"

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," she says.

"Without being dismissed?" cries Effie.

"I dismissed myself." She says defiantly.

Haymitch throws his napkin down onto the table. "Well, that's that."

_What's he talking about? What's that?_

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" she asks, though strangely, she doesn't seem concerned.

"Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage," he replies.

I can tell she's worried. "What about my family? Will they punish them?" she asks flustered. Now I understand. She'd rather be put into prison or killed, than have her family be punished for her crime. I should know by now how much they mean to her, and so I shouldn't be surprised - but I still am.

Haymitch answers her question honestly. "Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense. See they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's a secret, so it'd be a waste of effort." Her face looks so relieved. "More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena."

That comment almost makes me laugh - almost. "Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyways." I say.

"Very true," Haymitch agrees with me. Effie looks affronted when he dunks his pork chop into his wine. Mouth full, he smiles wide. "What were their faces like?"

Exactly what I wanted to know. The whole table quiets as we stare at Katniss. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." She grins. "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

We are all silent for one second before bursting into laughter. Over the commotion, I hear can hear Effie talking. "Well, it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." We all wear identical masks of shock. "I'm sorry," she stutters, seeing our expressions. "But that's what I think."

"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss adds. I really hope she doesn't. She needs the sponsors.

"Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones," Portia says, surprising me. "For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy."

Johanna Mason from District 7 is a great example of that theory's success. She was awarded a three in the training, so no one considered her a threat. She showed them all wrong at the very end. Turns out that the sniveling little girl was extremely malicious… and ruthless. I used to have nightmares of her.

Jumping back into the conversation, I attempt to lighten the mood. "I hope that's how people will interpret the four I'll probably get," I say. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot."

Katniss grins at me from across the table. I can actually feel the blood pooling to my face. Luckily, she's to busy eating to notice. I know the rest of the table saw, though.

After dinner we all gather in the sitting room again for the announcement of the scores. Naturally the Career Tributes have the highest scores, ranging from eight- to-ten. Everybody else receives a five or lower. All except the pair of tributes from 11. The male is scored a nine, and Rue, very shockingly, is given a seven.

My picture flashes onto the screen. I'm expecting a four, so when I see an eight flash by, I'm surprised. Cinna pats me on the back, while the rest mutter a good job.

And there's Katniss's face, I find myself staring at the small freckle on her right cheek. I never noticed that before. It's not until loud cheers erupt beside me that I even glance at her score.

An eleven!

Katniss is just as shocked as I am. "There must be a mistake. How…how could that happen?" she asks Haymitch.

"Guess they liked your temper. They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat." he replies. But I don't think that's the only reason. It's like I said before, she has an effect on people. I bet even if she had missed that damn apple, they still would have given her at least a ten.

Cinna is joking with her. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." Sadly, I'm sure that nickname will stick. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."

"More flames?" She asks.

"Of a sort," he says mysteriously.

I know it sounds bad, but I really hope they tone her down a bit. God knows, I will have enough trouble with admitting my feelings for her on live television, but if she looks as stunning as she did at the opening ceremony; I probably won't even be able to speak. Let alone follow through with the plan.

It's time for bed then, and me and Katniss awkwardly congratulate the other. I find myself wishing yet again for normalcy between us. But it appears as if there never will be.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~

I'm surprised when I wake up the next morning. I didn't have any dreams last night, that's a first since arriving here. I'm already dressed when Effie knocks on the door for breakfast. We walk down together.

Upon entering the room, Haymitch looks up at us. "You ready for training, kid?" he asks with a smile. I think he's trying to provoke me, so I just glare back. That makes him chuckle.

Effie cuts in. "So are you going to take the pair first, or shall I?"

We both look at her in surprise.

"Oh, right. Uh…I forgot to tell you about that. We're going to train them separately. You can take Katniss first." Haymitch retorts, obviously trying not to make her upset.

She looks taken aback. "And may I ask why?"

Haymitch leans over me to whisper, and she automatically bends forward to hear. I'm uncomfortably stuck in the middle, attempting to not be obvious as I try to scoot my chair back.

"Peeta's embarrassed by the fact that Katniss outscored him. He wants to talk tactics with me without her around." He whispers.

I'm flabbergasted. _What the hell?_ I'm about to say that when Haymitch shoots me a death glare, ordering me to keep my mouth shut. _What is he on about? _

Katniss chooses that moment to enter, efficiently ending our conversation. I won't forget to yell at him about that. _Why can't we tell Effie_? Well, I realize she's an airhead, but why all the secrecy?

My thoughts are still reeling as we eat breakfast. I don't even notice that no one is talking. Katniss does, however.

She looks apprehensive. "So, what's going one? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?"

"That's right," Haymitch says.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done." Oh, no. I can see where this is going. "I can listen and eat at the same time."

"Well, there's been a change in plans. About our current approach." _She's going to hate me._

"What's that?" She has no idea what's coming. I feel so bad.

"Peeta has asked to be coached separately," he shrugs.

Her face is a mask of shock, but I see her eyes. They are filled with an emotion that cuts me to the core.

Betrayal.

I feel like killing Haymitch right now.

* * *

**A/N:** _I'm sorry if this chapter is not up to par. I'm extremely angry right now and so it might have shown in my writing. Want to know why? Well, frankly, even if you don't, I'll still tell you._

_**My practically brand new ipod touch got stolen. **Yay my life!_

_Besides finding the person who stole it and giving them a solid punch in the face, reviews would make me happy! Okay, well, that's a lie. Really, I'll only be happy if I get to punch the theif. But still a review would be nice. So please, just drop a little comment._

_Oh! One more thing, I decided to scrap the whole "Friday Update" thing. I'll post when I finish the next chapter. And don't worry, that doesn't mean I won't update for weeks on end...I won't do that to you :) The next chap should be up by Thursday. (I hope)_

_Wait, I lied again. One last thing, don't forget to check out "Worst Memory". Hope you guys like it._

_Any who, hears to hoping all your lifes are better than mine at the moment!_

_-Stars_


	6. The Truth

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_Did anyone see Heroes last night? Oh my GOD! It was amazing! Anyway, sorry this one took so long. I blame my English class. Stupid short story assignment. :(_

* * *

"What was that all about?" I question Haymitch angrily. Katniss's betrayed eyes the only image in my head. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Look, I know you're upset. But I did what had to be done. Do you think Effie would have been able to keep this a secret? No. If we told her, you'd both be dead." He replies, equally as upset as I am.

"Yeah, I know that. I just don't understand why - "

"Enough! What's done is done. Right now we need to focus on what you'll have to do tomorrow. That's what's important. Can you handle that?"

"Yes." I say tersely, giving him a cold glare.

"Good. Now we just need to iron out what angle you'll be going for." He stares at me hard, contemplating.

"What angle? For the interview? Isn't it just me confessing my love for Katniss? Why do I need an angle?" I berate him.

"The whole interview will not be solely focused on Katniss!" he exclaims. "The audience needs to know you first. And to do that, we need to figure out what angle you'll approach with."

"What have you been thinking of?" I question.

"Well, you're naturally charming and witty, not to mention you have a good sense of humor…I think if you're just yourself, the crowd will love you."

I'm surprised by the compliment embedded in his words. "If I just have to act like myself, then what do we need to prepare?"

"I'll give you a scenario of possible questions, and you just try to be as positive and funny as you can." he responds.

I nod in assent. This will be strange.

"Alright, just pretend I'm Caesar Flickerman." I can't help myself from laughing at the thought of him in a purple wig, Caesar's color of choice two years back.

Haymitch glowers at me. "You done yet?"

I nod, still chuckling quietly.

"Okay, now tell me Peeta," he talks, his voice eerily similar to Caesar. "What is your favorite thing you've seen so far in the Capitol?"

I draw a blank. I don't like anything about the Capitol. "Hmm…nothing." I say honestly.

"You need to be likeable!" Haymitch growls.

I put a bright smile on my face and try again, this time extremely peppy. "Nothing!"

Haymitch is not amused. "If you want to help Katniss, you're going to have to take this very seriously." I immediately sober up. Way to poke my weak spot, Haymitch.

"Alright, alright. I'll take it seriously from now on. Go on, hit me with your best shot."

And so the next few hours pass relatively quickly, with me trying to answer as "likeable" as I can.

A few minutes before we have to meet Katniss and Effie for lunch, I ask Haymitch a detail that had been plaguing me for days. "How do we know that Caesar will ask about a girlfriend? What if he doesn't? It's not like I can casually bring up my feelings for her without being obvious."

"Don't worry," Haymitch reassures me. "He will ask you. Caesar asks nearly every attractive male tribute if there is a girl waiting back home. It spices up the competition. He'll ask you."

I'm still not completely certain that he will, but I decide not to press it.

"Now, what you need to worry about is making sure you stick to the script. It's exactly what needs to be said, in order for the audience to fall for it. You got that, kid?"

"Yup, it's all in here." I point to my head.

He smiles. "Good. You'll do fine. I know you will. Now let's go, I'm hungry."

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~

"No, no, NO!" She hits my head. "You're doing it all wrong. You can't sit like that, you'll wrinkle your suit. You can't slouch. Back straight!" Effie reprimands me, again.

"Sorry," I say, for probably the hundredth time. We've been at this for hours. It's not my fault I'm tired, I can't help that I slouch.

"You are more hopeless than Katniss! Which is a hard feat to conquer, I assure you, but don't worry you have!" I try not to burst out laughing at her melodramatic antics. I don't succeed.

"Are you laughing?" she shrieks. "Why in the world are you laughing?" Her screaming only makes me laugh harder. "That's it. We're done." she turns her back toward me. "If you won't take this seriously, you can just go. Don't come crying to me when you make a fool of yourself tomorrow."

I manage to thank her over the chuckles that won't stop. "See you at dinner, Effie." I make it to the hallway before collapsing in fits of hysteria. I don't even know why I'm laughing anymore, but it feels good. It feels good to just release. I'm not thinking about the fact that I will die in a few days, or that Katniss might too. I don't think about anything. I just let myself laugh it all away.

Dinner is an extremely awkward affair. Katniss isn't here; she took dinner in her room. And guessing by the mood Haymitch is in, Katniss is even worse. I wonder what he said to her.

Effie refuses to talk to me, she's probably still sore about this afternoon. I don't really care. Knowing her, she'll be back to her happy-go-lucky self by tomorrow.

The second our plates are cleared, I run out of there. A nice, long shower sounds nice. I pick up my speed, rushing down the hall.

As I pass Katniss's door, I can't help but stop. There are loud, crashing noises coming from inside her room. _What the hell? _I put my ear to the door, listening carefully. I hear the sound of shattering glass. What is she doing in there? It sounds like she's being attacked_._ I debate whether or not to go inside. A reverberating crash leaves the door shaking. I put my hand on the handle. I'm going in.

Just as I'm about to push open the door, another hand encloses over mine. I look up. The redheaded Avox girl is standing there. She shakes her head at me and points to her chest, then at the door.

"You want to go in there?" I ask stupidly. _Of course, that's was she meant, idiot_.

She nods, her green eyes burning into me.

I take my hand off the handle. "Why do you want to go?" I can't help but ask.

She looks at me for a second but doesn't answer. I understand what she's trying to say, it's just between her and Katniss. I decide to accept that.

Another boom echoes from inside. I start backing away. She looks at me for half a second longer, searching for something. I give a nod. She opens the door and steps inside, quietly shutting it behind her.

I stand there for a few minutes, just staring at where she disappeared. Finally, after giving my head a slight shake, I head back to my room and to the nice long shower that awaits me.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~

Waking up is not a pleasant experience, at least not when you have two seemingly-alien creatures standing above you, that then proceed to drag you out of your warm bed and to an unidentified place.

Any person put through that ordeal would be in a terrible mood. That's my excuse anyway. In reality, though, I'm just nervous for tonight.

Everything my stylists do and say annoys me. I remember Haymitch's words, however, and keep my sharp tongue in place. In fact, I don't say anything at all. I simply sit and let them finish their job.

It's not until Portia comes in that my mood marginally increases. She shoos Volvio and Corvetta out, and then turns to face me.

"Good, then. Now we can start the real fun!" Although her voice is just as aggravating as the prep team, her personality makes up for it. "Come stand here." she points at the stool in the middle. "I need to see what I have to work with."

She labors on me until mid-afternoon; Volvio and Corvetta are called back in to work on my hair. They skillfully weave red into the ashy blonde locks, somehow making it appear natural, as if I have always had hair that resembled flames. Portia dusts my face and arms with gold powder, causing me to look surreal - almost Godlike.

All three of them step away from me, their eyes squint, looking for any misplaced strand of hair. Finally after a few minutes, Corvetta squeals excitedly, "I think he's ready! Can I go get his outfit? Please!" she begs, jumping up and down.

Portia nods and Corvetta streaks out the door. It only takes a good twenty seconds before she's racing back in, a large wardrobe bag draped over her outstretched hands. They place me on the stool in the middle of the room, stripping me of all clothing, before carefully sliding me into my new outfit. All three of them gasp when I fasten the last coat button.

"You look striking, Peeta." Volvio gushes, the other two call out in agreement. "He has got to be the best looking tribute we have ever got." He whispers to Corvetta. I can still hear him, though, and I feel myself flush a little. I have got to learn how to control that. I don't want to be blushing tonight, it will be embarrassing enough.

Portia realizes that I still haven't seen myself yet. "Come, Peeta! Look at yourself." She guides me to a mirror near the exit. I can't even recognize myself. My body looks young and strong in a fitted black suit. The tie is what makes the outfit, however. It appears as if I have a small strip of flame running down my chest. The tie is made from all the hues of fire - red, yellow, blue, orange. The colors stand out boldly against the crisp, white of my undershirt.

Portia puts on a hand on my shoulder. "You'll be fine tonight, Peeta," she whispers encouragingly. "Absolutely fine."

I wish I could be certain that her words are true, that I knew - without a doubt - that I'd be able to pull this, that I'd be able to save Katniss.

"It's time to go." Her words break through my thoughts. "You ready, Peeta?" She sounds concerned.

I turn to her, forcing a bright smile on my face. "I'm ready, let's go." Before leading the way out the door and toward the elevator.

When we arrive there, I reach out to press the button. Portia stops me with her hand. "We're waiting for the others here."

Effie and Haymitch arrive a few minutes later, both of them dressed in their nicest clothes. Effie starts congratulating the stylists on a job well-done. I'm the first to notice footsteps approaching.

Cinna walks into sight first, followed closely by the annoying prep team. "Are you guys ready to see her?" Effie and Portia nod enthusiastically. A guy with purple hair calls to the hallway. "Katniss, honey! Come out now!"

I hear her heels clacking on the floor before she steps out. My eyes travel up and down her jewel incrusted dress, taking in every inch of her. My breath shortens, and my palms sweat. She's the epitome of beauty. Somehow, Cinna has managed to make her look even more dazzling than just a few nights ago. I can't take my eyes off her.

Haymitch whacks me across the head subtly as we all walk into the elevator. "Get a hold of yourself, kid. You need to focus." he murmurs menacingly into my ear.

I feel the blood pool to my face.

The tributes are all ready and waiting when we finally enter the lobby. We stand at the very end of the line. I try to keep myself from looking at Katniss. Haymitch is right, I need to focus. It's quite hard.

Haymitch appears directly behind us. "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."

We both nod, and then we are parading out onto stage with the rest of the tributes. The first thing I notice is the sheer amount of people present. They have balconies set up for the Gamemakers and television crews, and elevated seating for the prestigious, the stylists and mentors sit in the very front row of seats, otherwise, though, it's just standing room only.

I take the last seat in the arc of chairs. It's kind of lucky, actually, that I'll be last. My story will stick out the most in their minds; there won't be anyone behind me to tarnish it.

Caesar Flickerman walks in at that moment. His hair a shocking powder blue. He coated his lips in the same shade. I don't know what to make of it.

My eyes trickle over to Katniss unconsciously. She really is stunning. I don't know how long I stare at her for, but Caesar wakes me from my thoughts.

"So let us begin! Welcome to the interviews for the 74th Hunger Games! Now, let us welcome Glimmer from District One!" he shouts above the loud cheers. The Career Tributes are always a big favorite among the crowd. The allotted three minutes flies by quickly with Caesar.

Before I even realize it, we are on District Eight. Haymitch is right; Caesar has already asked every boy tribute whether or not they have a lady waiting for them back home. I think it bodes well with the audience if they do.

Districts Nine and Ten fly by. It's Rue's turn. I can automatically see the appearance they are trying to give off with her. Small and innocent. Her dress has little wings sewn on; they make her look like a tiny angel. Her voice is loud and confident despite her size, and she answers all of Caesar's questions with poise.

"Now, Rue. What will your greatest strength be in the arena? I understand if you don't want to say, you might not want the others aware of your secret now, eh?" he jokes, receiving a few laughs from the crowd.

She doesn't hesitate. "I'm very hard to catch. And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

I'm not the only one shocked. This kid has some spunk. Caesar is the only one who appears unaffected. "I wouldn't in a million years," he assures her.

The buzzer goes off. I suddenly realize how close I am. Where did the time go? I don't pay attention to anything said in the next interview. Though, from what I can gather, Thresh doesn't say much.

Soon the applause rings out again, and it's Katniss's turn. I follow her with my eyes as she steadily makes her way to the middle. Caesar starts the questions off right away. "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve." That's an understatement. "What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"

I can tell she's nervous, though I doubt anyone else can. Her back is straight and her voice unwavering as she answers after a slight pause. "The lamb stew." I know she wasn't trying to be funny, she was just being honest. But the crowd doesn't know that. She's the perfect charmer, that one.

Caesar plays along. "The one with the dried plums?" She nods. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketfuls." He puts a hand to his stomach, horror filling his voice. "It doesn't show, does it?"

After the crowd shouts their reassurances he get's down to business again. "Now, Katniss. When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"

Her eyes search the audience for something before turning back to Caesar. "You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?"

I laugh at that because it's true. I remember how scared she was.

"Yes. Start then." Caesar says.

"I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either." She lifts up the reflective skirt. "I mean, look at this!"

By some unspoken signal she twirls in a circle, the dress fanning out around her. I can't believe how beautiful she is.

"Oh, do that it again!" I silently thank Caesar in my mind, because right then Katniss throws her hands in the air and starts spinning. Flames erupt around her - no, she _is_ the flames. It's hard to think about anything but her. The only emotion running though me is desire. The desire for that incredible person to feel the same way that I feel about her. It's wishful thinking, I know. But at that moment, while she twirls and spins around, it's the only thing I long for.

She comes to an end, breathless with her chest heaving. "Don't stop!" Caesar shouts. I agree with him.

"I have to, I'm dizzy." she giggles. Never before have I heard her giggle. It's an angelic sound, though, coming from her.

I find myself wishing I were Caesar - a wish I'd never dreamt of thinking - but only because he gets to wrap his arm around her.

I'm suddenly jealous. Jealous at the thought that I have never been able to do that, and probably won't ever be able to. I want to hold her. It surprises me how much I do - how much I want that chance.

Her voice finds its way to my ear, as I start to tune in again. She's addressing the Gamemakers. Why?

A small, portly fellow yells back to her. "She's not!" Not what?

"Thank you." she calls back politely. She turns back to Caesar. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"Let's go back then," he abruptly switches the subject. "To the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping. And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

I am sure I'm not the only one who notices the shift in the mood. It's more somber. Less boisterous.

"Her name is Prim," her face is closed off from the world; I'm probably the only one who can see her sadness, the pain that is slowly eating her. "She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything." No one can doubt the sincerity bleeding from her words.

The audience is dead silence - I can't help but wonder what they are feeling. People like them don't know compassion, don't know what it means to struggle, to loose someone they love, they don't know anything of hardship. How can they relate? How can they feel sadness?

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?" he asks her.

She swallows, eyes searching once again toward the audience. What is she looking for? "She asked me to try really hard to win."

"And what did you say?"

Every single member of the audience is silent, starring at her.

Katniss takes a deep breath before answering, her voice a whisper. "I swore I would." If it wasn't for Caesar's arm around her, I'm sure she would have fallen.

His reply is equally as quiet. "I'm sure you would."

The buzzer sounds.

It's my turn. I feel myself stand and walk past Katniss to the center stage. I restrain my hands from reaching out to hold her - to protect her from this cruel world.

I reach Caesar and he makes a show of shaking my hand. "This one's got a strong grip!" he shouts to the audience, pretending to massage his hand. "Tell us, where'd you get that strength?"

Likeable. Be likeable. I force a broad grin onto my face. I can do this. For Katniss.

"What muscle?" I flex my arm. "Oh, you mean that muscle!" Big, booming laugh from the crowd. "You're looking at a Baker's son, here." I announce proudly.

"So, you're the expert on bread, are you?"

"No," I say sarcastically. "I'm the expert on cheese." Another laugh from the crowd. "Of course I'm the expert on bread! In fact, I noticed something while I've been here."

Caesar looks bemused. "And what would that be?"

"The tributes here look like the bread they make at their home." I say, putting a finger to my chin in the universal "thinking" pose.

"And how's that?" He asks, chuckling.

"Take the male from District Four for example. The bread there is shaped after a fish, and look, he resembles a fish out of water!" It was true. The kid has bugged eyes that were set an odd distance apart; he really did look like some mutant aquatic creature. The boy - I can't remember his name - glowers at me. I know I just made an enemy. The crowd loves it, though.

Caesar allows time for the spectators to calm down before starting up again. "We know Katniss, here, loves the lamb stew, but is there anything you'd like to say about the Capitol?"

I put on a mock serious face, looking straight into the cameras. "The Capitol is a very dangerous place. Beware." I say, deadpanned. There's instant tense, silence. "I mean, have you seen those showers? Just a week ago, I almost got sucked up by a water twister. And just last night, I accidentally pressed a button that showered petals all over me! Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" I ask Caesar.

He leans forward and takes a deep breath before turning to the crowd with a big thumbs up. They go ballistic. I'm in my element. "I know exactly what you mean!" he continues. "This morning I pressed one that sprayed out lemon juice! My eyes burned the whole morning!"

I follow instinct, and lean in towards him, taking a whiff of his shirt. He doesn't smell anything like lemon, but I pretend. "You're right; I can still smell the citrus!" The audience is beside themselves with laughter.

"The perils of showers." Caesar concludes with a shake of his head. "Now, tell me, Peeta, who's the lucky girl back home? You do have one, right?"

The crowd quiets, waiting for my answer. I give an unconvincing shake of my head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some girl. Come on, what's her name?" he pushes.

I let out a loud sigh. "Well there is this one girl." I don't know what I'm saying anymore. All I know is I stopped following Haymitch's script the moment I stepped onto stage. Right now, I'm speaking the truth. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." I'm not pretending the sad, defeated look that has overcome my face.

The crowd sighs in sympathy. I have their hearts.

"She have another fellow?"

_Yes. Gale_. Is the automatic thought. I lie, though. "I don't know but a lot of boys like her." The last part is the truth. Almost as often as you hear Gale's name in the halls, you can her Katniss's. She's a wonder to the boy population at our school. A fact neither Gale nor I liked, for that matter. I wonder if Katniss knows how many times Gale's punched someone for saying anything about her. Probably doesn't know a thing, he was always particularly quiet about that stuff.

Caesar buts into my thoughts. "So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" he seems to think he found the ultimate solution.

"I don't think that's going to work out. Winning…won't help my case. "

Caesar looks stunned. "Why ever not?"

I feel the blood pooling to my face. I can't believe I'm going to do this. Whatever sliver of friendship we may have had will be severed at this point. I won't ever be able to look her in the eyes again.

Should I do this? Should I risk it?

I dismiss those thoughts immediately. I can't be selfish. I will go through with this - I must. For her sake. I steal one glance at her face; her eyes are focused on me. It's the strength I need. Taking a deep breath, I stutter out the words that will change my life forever. "Because. . . because. . .she came her with me."

There's absolute silence for a few seconds as my words sink in. I can't look at Katniss. I don't want to see her expression. If I look up, I'll probably see some emotion akin to pity in her gaze, and that's something I never want to see from her.

So instead, I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to reign in the wild blush that has taken over my body.

"Oh, that's a real piece of bad luck." The audience reacts just the way Haymitch predicted. I can hear cries of empathy, some even let out agonized screams.

"It's not good." I choke out.

"Well, I don't think anyone can blame you," he tries to reassure me. "It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady." As if he knows her. As if he has the right to say that. "She didn't know?" he continues.

"Not until now." It hasn't sunk in yet. _She knows_. My deepest, darkest secret revealed. _She knows._

Caesar now turns to the crowd, the strange thing is, I can tell he actually feels real pain for me, for my situation. I never pictured him to be the one who cared. But maybe he is bothered; I wonder how much it pains him every year to see each new set of tributes, to talk to them, to joke with them, and then watch as each one is slowly killed. It must get to him. At least, I hope it does.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her out here and get a response?" No. I would not love that. "Sadly rules are rules, and Katniss Everndeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all Panem when I say our hearts go with you."

I mumble a quiet, "thank you," and then take my seat. Only to rise for the National Anthem. Our faces dominate every screen, and I don't take my eyes off her. I've done what I needed to accomplish, but that doesn't make me feel better. Especially not when I see her downcast eyes and red face. She's not happy. I feel my gut wrench. She suddenly looks up, and I can see her eyes. The coldness emitting from them hurt me more than I can say.

The anthem ends and the tributes march back into the Training Center. I notice that Katniss abruptly turns into an elevator that's full. She's avoiding me.

I don't think about anything as I ride to my floor, I do notice; however, that every single pair of eyes is on me. Most of them are curious, but mixed with it is an emotion I'd never imagined I'd see on a fellow tributes face. Pity. My ruse must have worked then. If my opponents feel bad for me - the audience must feel worst. I'm slightly cheered by that thought.

The elevator doors open and I calmly step out. I feel a rush of win and then I'm falling. My limbs fan out, grasping for some hold; they find nothing.

Pain. Sharp, shooting pain rushes through my body. I look at my arms that are now covered in blood. _What the…?_ A shadow is standing above me; I gaze upwards into the same cold, gray eyes I looked into at the screen. Katniss. Katniss did this.

"What was that for?" I'm surprised by how steady my voice is considering the pain I'm in.

"You had no right!" she sounds close to tears. "No right to go saying those things about me!" She looks feral, like she could kill me if she wanted to. I've never seen her so upset.

And then the elevator opens a second time, and I'm surrounded by a mob.

"What's going on?" cries Effie. "Did you fall?"

Effie and Cinna struggle to pull me up without touching the wounds.

"After she shoved me." My voice is gruff. I'm suddenly very upset. Out of all the ways I'd thought she'd react, I never dreamed anger. . . or violence. Why is it that big of a deal? I'm trying to keep her alive.

Haymitch's face darkens at my words. "Shoved him?"

She turns on him, shouting. "This way your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the whole country?"

So that's the way she sees it. Where the _hell_ did she get that?

"It was my idea," I say. My fingers pull out bits of pottery on their own accord. Another jet of pain shoots through my arm. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

She looks at me, eyes flashing silver. "Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" She spits out spitefully.

"You _are_ a fool," Haymitch answers for me, his tone equally as scathing. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!" So that's what she thinks. Her worst fear - appearing weak, and she thinks the whole country now considers her it.

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you," I can't help but blush at that. Why does he have to put it like that? "Now they all do," he continues. "You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I know now. Why's she's upset. It's Gale, it always comes back to Gale.

I pull another piece of urn out of my palm. And then another. Letting myself focus solely on the pain, for the moment I ignore Haymitch's gruff voice trying to explain things to her. I ignore almost everything.

That is until I hear Cinna's voice. Wait, Cinna's? He knew about the plan? Portia, too? Haymitch must have told them last night. Same with Effie.

"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she grumbles.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known it wouldn't have read as real."

I'm angry and I don't realize I'm saying it aloud until I hear my cracked voice. "She's just worried about her boyfriend." I sound like a jealous schoolboy. Oh wait, I am one.

She flushes red, confirming my theory. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Whatever," I bite back. I'm not looking for another petty argument. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees one." He'll think it's a bluff at least. He'll think I'm just fulfilling my promise. "Besides you didn't say _you_ loved _me_. So what does it matter?" I'm a little surprised I threw that out there.

I see the epiphany hit her. She knows that what I did benefited her. She also has know idea that what I said was true. That I really do love her. Have for the past eleven years. She thinks I made it up - that it's a bluff, a front. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" she asks Portia, anxiously.

"I did. They way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

Haymitch chimes in. "You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."

She turns to me embarrassed. "I'm sorry I shoved you." She's sincere, and I know she was just extremely upset.

"Doesn't matter." It's true, now that the pottery is out, it doesn't sting that bad. "Although it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands okay?" she sounds concerned.

"They'll be all right." _I hope_.

Haymitch calls everyone to supper. I sit at my seat and try to grasp my fork and knife. The raw wounds scrape against them, and I drop them in pain.

Effie looks over at me, and then sees my hands. "He needs to have medical attention! He can't go into the arena like that!" she exclaims horrified.

"I'll take him." Portia volunteers, silently standing up. "Come on, Peeta."

We ride down the elevator in silence, and she takes me to the front desk in the lobby. She quietly exchanges a few words with the receptionist before motioning for me to follow.

She leads me into a spacious room to the right and goes to yet another counter.

"We need medical assistance for Peeta Mellark; he tripped and cut up his hands."

"Yes, I can see that. A doctor will be right to help with you." The lady is looking at me with pity. I get the impression that it's not because of my injury.

A man in a white coat comes out and takes us to a small office. I sit on the bed as he sprays some anti-infection onto the cuts. They sting sharply for a second, then there's no pain. After a few seconds, he wraps them tightly with bandages.

"There," he says, not five minutes later. "As good as new. You're free to go now."

I jump down and thank him for his help before starting to head towards the door, Portia following at my heels.

The old man stops me. "Oh, and good luck to you, Peeta. My wife is rooting hard for the two of you."

I smile pleasantly back at him and continue out the door. We don't say anything again until we're in the elevator.

The doors close and we zoom up to the last floor. Portia turns to me. "I'm sorry, Peeta, about the way she reacted. I can tell you truly care about her." I'm astonished to see tears in her eyes. She engulfs me in a hug. "Really, I'm so sorry. You're the sweetest boy I know. I don't want you to go through with this."

I don't know how to respond so I just hug her back tightly. The doors open revealing our stop.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be acting like this." she swipes her eyes. "Let's go back to dinner."

The rest of the meal is uneventful; the broadcast is airing at seven. A few minutes to, we all crowd back into the sitting room. Katniss is anxious about her reaction. Effie and Portia continue to say they thought she was perfect. She remains unconvinced.

So this time around, we all focus on Katniss as I make my confession. We all agree, even her, that it looks very legitimate. She ducks and blushes at all the right moments. Apparently, I'm the only one who sees the steeliness in her eyes as she looks at the cameras. That's a good thing, I guess. The broadcast ends with a last shot of the two of us, and a reminder to tune in tomorrow for the beginning of the end for the "star-crossed lovers" from District Twelve.

We all stand, congratulating each other on a job well done. This will be the last time I see Effie and Haymitch, tomorrow morning when we're off to the arena they'll be off to Headquarters. As weird as it seems, I'll actually miss them. I find myself wondering if they'll care much when I die. Or am I just like every other tribute that has passed through these doors. For some reason, I feel as if they care more about me and Katniss. Maybe because we both actually have a chance for surviving, and we're willing to work for it.

I realized Effie must care because there are real tears in her eyes as she looks down at us. "I wish you both luck," she chokes out. "Thank you for being the best tributes I've ever had the privilege of sponsoring." She brightens considerably after saying, "I wouldn't be surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!" I can't help but chuckle. Typical Effie. At least some things don't change.

After giving us both a kiss she flees the room.

Haymitch looks at us, scrutinizing.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask.

He seems to have been waiting for this. "When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. Neither of you are up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water." he talks urgently. "Go it?"

Katniss asks the most pertinent question. "And after that?"

"Stay alive."

We both nod. I guess that's the only thing he can say.

I hang back as everyone clears out; I want to talk to Portia. Soon, it's just the two of us. She's standing by the door, her back facing toward me. I walk up to her, putting a hand on her arm. "Thanks for what you said. It really means a lot to me."

She nods, emotional; I can tell she doesn't want to cry again. "Let's save the goodbyes for tomorrow, shall we?"

I laugh and tell her that's fine. She smiles brightly, "Now go get some rest, Peeta. I'll be waking you up early." I nod, and she gives me one last hug before leaving.

I go back to my room and take my last shower, careful to scrub off every last trace of powder.

Crawling under the covers is useless, I know, but there's nothing else to do. My mind travels back to my family. What did they think of they interview? My father was probably the only one without a look of shock on his face. I always knew he knew. He could tell, he always said I acted just like he did as a boy.

I start to think about the last words my father told me.

_Do not let these Games change you, son…You've got a good soul, and I don't ever want to see that change._

What am I going to do? I already know I'm going to die, but I don't want to die different than I am now, if that makes sense. I still want to be Peeta, not some monster the Capitol created. Because that's what it all comes down too. If I let myself change - become some product of the Games - then the Capitol has won, they've accomplished what they wanted to achieve. I won't let that happen.

I lay there starring at the ceiling for I don't know how long. Finally, giving up, I throw my covers off, and put on some warm, flannel sweats. Stepping out into the hall, I quietly make my way to the roof. I just need some fresh air, to help me think. Then I'll be able to sleep. I think hopefully.

The noise startles me as I make it onto the roof. What is going on? There's music and singing and a cacophony of loud noises. I make my way to the ledge and stare down into the pandemonium.

They're having a celebration of that I can tell. It's not until I can make out a sign bearing the emblem of the Games do I realize that this party is for us.

The music is so loud, I can't even hear the wind chimes a few yards away from me. I suppose that's why I don't hear Katniss until she makes her presence known.

"You should be getting some sleep," she calls from somewhere behind me.

I jump, startled, but don't turn around. Instead I give my head a slight nod. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

She comes up beside me, are shoulders brushing against each other. Involuntarily, a small shiver runs through me.

"Are they in costumes?" she asks.

"Who could tell?" I answer honestly. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here." I pause. "Couldn't sleep, either?"

She gives a tiny smile. "Couldn't turn my mind off."

"Thinking about your family?" _About Gale_? I add silently.

"No," she says, sounding guilty. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." I see her gaze travel to my bandages. "I really am sorry about you hands."

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say resolutely. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyways."

"That's no way of thinking," she reprimands.

I don't feel like explaining that she's wrong, I don't mean that I think I'm weak and can't survive. I was never a contender - not just because I couldn't handle it - but, because she was always there, too.

I can't tell her that, though. So I just let her continue to think otherwise. "Why not?" I continue. "It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and…" I pause, debating whether or not to say it.

"And what?"

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself." I struggle to come up with words to explain. "Does that make any sense? I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I am not."

She thinks, biting her lip in concentration. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everyone else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…" I hesitate. "…to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece of their Games." I try to make her understand.

"But you're not," she argues. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

I want her to get it, to try to know what I'm thinking. "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me." I urge. "Don't you see?"

"A little," she compensates. "Only…no offense, but who cares Peeta?"

How can you not? "I do," I say bitterly, looking straight into her eyes. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I'm sure she caught onto the hint, she takes a step back.

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

That only makes me more depressed. I can't let myself think that. What would that mean for Katniss, if I came home? Death. And that's not possible. The hopelessness I feel changes swiftly to bitterness. I cruelly say, "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." I instantly regret my words. I know how much she hates being called that.

She looks as if I had slapped her. Angered, she spits out words, too. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve.

_Please, God, let that be true_.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it." she replies angrily before stalking out.

I don't know how much longer I stand out there, just watching the festivities below me. Long enough, though, long enough to feel at ease with myself. Returning to my bed, I finally am able to sleep soundlessly.

* * *

**A/N:** _I hope you're all excited for the next couple of chapters, I know I am! Now I finally have free reign on what he will do. I can't wait to start writing! I'm not sure when the next one will be posted, but hopefully soon. I will try not to keep you waiting :)_

_Any who, thanks to all the Favorites and Alerts I've received. But a big thanks goes to every single person who has reviewed so far. Pandatwilightchicka, CreamonBagel, Liana111, random221, Nicole Cullen, Lost in Believing, Melted-Golden-Eyes, Canadian-Girl14 a huge thank you to you all, who have reviewed nearly every chapter (I'm sorry if I missed you - I love you still :))!_

_-Stars_


	7. New Plan

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

Hey chicas. It's, um, been a while. Hopefully you haven't all deserted me? *hopeful face*

This chapter is dedicated to the song Swing, Swing by The All-American Rejects because I listened to it about a hundred thousand million times while writing this chapter.

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It feels as if my head has just hit the pillow when a knock disturbs my dreams.

"What the…" I say groggily. That can't be Portia already, can it? I'm not sure what time it is, but I can still see the moon hanging in the sky. She wouldn't come this early. Curious, I stumble out of my bed and walk to the door. There's another knock, this time more urgent.

"I know you're in there, kid. Open up." I recognize that gruff voice. It's Haymitch. My eyebrows rise in confusion. What's he doing here? Did something happen? I open the door with nothing but bad thoughts running through my head.

"Finally!" He pushes past me and strides in, shutting the door firmly behind him. He then turns to me, eyeing me with a look I can't identify. "Forget every strategy I ever told you. We have a new plan."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. "What?" I manage to choke out. "A new plan?" What is he thinking? The Games start in hours, not days. We don't have time for a new plan.

He looks at me, annoyed by my apparent slowness. "The audience bought your confession. Right now the streets are lined with people lamenting about the fate of the poor lovers from District 12. We need to continue with the act," he whispers quickly, eyes glancing nervously every which way. "We need to make this more believable."

I just look at him. Confusion holding my tongue in place.

He sees my bewilderment. "You need to keep up the show during the Games." He says slowly, enunciating every word. "And you need to make it more believable."

"Yeah, I get what you saying." I reply angrily. "And, I'm sorry! How do you suggest I make it more believable? Because I think what I just did was pretty damn believable!" I storm to the chair resting in the corner of the room.

"Listen, Peeta." He calmly walks until he's kneeling right in front of me. "It shouldn't be too hard." I snort. He looks at me annoyed. "This may be the only way to keep her alive."

"You told me she would be fine if I pulled off the interview!" I shout, infuriated. "Now what? Why did that –"

He roughly puts his hand over my mouth. "Shut up. Do you want to wake the whole floor? Don't you realize I'm not supposed to be here?" I glare at him over his palm before nodding brusquely. He removes his hand. "Now keep your voice down."

"How exactly do you expect me to make it more believable? It's not like I can walk into the arena and start professing my love to her. I'd be a joke. And plus, you saw how angry Katniss got today." I ask in a whisper.

"It doesn't matter what Katniss feels."

I snort at this comment. That's what _you _think. But you wouldn't be the one stuck in an enclosed arena with an extremely angry and _extremely_ lethal person.

"What matters is that she lives. We're doing this because the people reacted just the way we needed them to. They believe your romance. If one of you dies now, who knows how they'll act. The Capitol knows that, and they may begin to suspect that you're playing them on their weakness. We can't let that happen. So you need to continue playing the poor, unfortunate soul until the very end."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" I understand what he is trying to say now. It makes sense, in a way. I stop glaring at him. Sort of.

"That's exactly why I came here." He says, pulling me up out of the chair and then taking my spot in it. "We have a lot to go over."

***

"Excuse me? You want me to do _what_?" I say, barely controlling my voic, after about a thirty minute explanation of what I _must_ do when I enter the arena.

Haymitch scowls. "You heard me."

"Yes," I reply, still very much shaken. "But I'm not so sure _you_ heard what just came out of your mouth. I mean, are you crazy? That'd be suicidal, that'd be—"

"That would keep her alive."

"I fail to see how this 'plan' will keep her alive," I mutter.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "You're wasting time. And I'm not supposed to be here. So shut your mouth and just do what I told you to do. Believe me, it will work. I know what I'm talking about."

I turn my head so he doesn't see the face I make, but it doesn't matter, he's already striding for the door.

"Now, you mustn't mess up today. It's the most crucial part, and if it doesn't go over the way we planned, you're both dead," Haymitch says, his hand on the door, his back still toward me. I snort at that, always one for confidence-boosting, Haymitch is.

Before he reaches the door, I manage to choke out what I've been wanting to ask since he barged in here."Katniss," I struggle for the words. My hands run uncharacteristically through my hair frantically. My face heats up. "She…she doesn't feel the same way as me," I stutter. "How can we convince the audience if I'm the only one playing the part?"

For the first time, I see him waver. He turns to look at me, his face a mask. "Peeta," he says quietly, yet loud enough to not be considered a whisper. "I know this will be hard for you. And I'm sorry for it." His voice isn't gruff or mean or sarcastic...it's low, and probably as emotinal as he could ever get. I'm momentarily shocked.

"But if you play your cards right, the audience won't need much more convincing." Haymitch walks back toward me, and stiffly puts his hand on my shoulder; you can tell he isn't one for sympathy. "You're probably the best person I know, kid. And I've known a lot of good people during my life span." His face is twisted in pain, and I get the feeling that, right now, he's not thinking about me, but something—or someone—from a lifetime ago. Way before me and my current situation.

His eyes are tortured as he turns around, heading back for the door. "And for some reason," he continues at a mumble so quiet that I'm positive he didn't mean for me to hear. "It's always the good ones that die young—the ones that deserve to live the most. I mean, look at me, I'm alive. God knows I don't deserve to be."

Haymitch grasps the handle of the door again, and turns briefly to look at me, his face back to its normal self, as if I imagined the last whole minute between us. "Good luck, Peeta. I wish you the best…and, hey, you never know, maybe she'll come around. If she has any sense—which I know she does, I wouldn't be wasting my time If she didn't—but if she uses any of that sense, she'll realize who you are."

He gives me one last, hard stare, before disappearing back out the door. In a daze, I walk back to my bed and lie down and surprisingly, in an instant, I'm out.

***

It's still dark when Portia comes. I struggle to open my eyes. I must have got at most two hours of sleep. I pull my head under the covers, trying with all my might to pretend I'm home.

"Come on, Peeta. It's time to go." Unfortunately, that lightly scolding voice sounds nothing like my father. I'm not in District Twelve.

It takes all my energy to swing over the side of the bed. I yawn loudly, my eyes still squeezed shut.

"Someone looks like they got no sleep." I crack my eyes open to glance at Portia. She's leaning against the door, freshly showered and seemingly fully and happily awake. I shut them again in annoyance. Stupid morning person. I lean back down across the bed, curving my back into a stretch.

Portia lets out an irritated grunt, before stomping over to me. "Get up, now. It's not my fault you stayed up the whole night, even after I explicably warned you that I was getting you early." Despite her angry tone, she's smiling down at me, a softness to her expression.

I slowly stand up, not wanting to test her patience this early in the morning.

"Good boy. Now, we should get up there," she says looking at her watch anxiously. "We need to be on the roof in five minutes."

"The roof? Why are we going to the roof?"

"That's where we're getting picked up," she starts ruffling in the bag slung across her shoulder. "Now, here, put this on quickly."

The air is silent as we step out into the crisp morning light, the party must have ended. It's good, I like it this way. The somberness matches my mood. The sun is just touching the horizon, when the sight is disturbed by a large hovercraft. Katniss was right – one second, it was nothing but the calmness of a dawning day, the next, there was a metal contraption buzzing above us. It appeared out of thin air, and gave no warning, never disrupting the stilled quietness.

A ladder slowly drops down to me feet. I let Portia get on first before grabbing a rung. I'm instantly frozen to it. My neck is stuck looking down as we are lifted safely up. My eyes tax over the sprawling city below me, taking it all in one last time.

Once inside the spacious hovercraft, Portia steps away. I try to follow her, but find that I'm still rendered immobile. "Don't worry, Peeta," a woman in a white coat says as she reaches me. "I just have to place the tracker in you real quick, and it's a lot easier when there's no fidgeting." She smiles brightly and looks at my hands. "Oh dear, what happened?" she questions at the multiple cuts that are still slightly pink. I try to shrug but then remember I can't.

"He fell last night." Portia answers for me. "He was treated and should be all better soon."

The woman clucks her tongue and shakes her head sympathetically. "I'm sorry, dearie, that looks like it hurt." After a slight pause she injects a small metal device deep into my right arm. The sharp pain shocks me and I try to pull away from her. I can't, of course. She fiddles with it for a few seconds before stepping away. "I wish you the best of luck, Peeta." She whispers quietly before making an abrupt exit. Almost as soon as her back disappears behind a door, the ladder releases me from its clutches. An Avox with short blonde hair arrives and leads us to our breakfast. I sit in the nearest chair and rest my head on my arms. I'm still tired. I feel Portia take a seat next to me.

"Here, Peeta, have some of this." She slides a mug towards me. "It'll wake you up some."

I look down at the black coffee swirling around inside. I never cared much for it, but know that I need the caffeine. I take a sip, and then regret it, the steaming liquid burns down my throat. Portia forces me to finish it, and then a plate of breakfast. "You'll need the energy." She tells me each time I make a face at the proffered food.

The windows black out after a solid half hour of flying, and Portia looks up startled. "We're already here?" she asks to herself. The hovercraft slowly comes to a rest. She turns to me sadly. "Come on, it's time to go."

The ladder drops us underground. Once in the catacombs, an Avox leads us to a set of rooms designed specifically for me. This is the final place I'll rest in until the Games start.

"You should shower, Peeta." Portia tells me as we walk through the doors. "By the time you're done, your clothes should be here."

I nod and head toward the never before used bathroom. Stepping into the shower, I can't help but think that this will be the last time I take one. With that thought in mind, I spend as long as I can under the steady stream, letting it soothe me and my sore muscles. The hot water wakes me up more than the coffee did, and I find myself never wanting to get out.

A knock at the door interrupts me. "Come on, Peeta," Portia's voice calls out. "Your clothes are here." Regretfully, I climb out and wrap a towel around my waist. _Goodbye shower. I'll miss you._

I walk back into the front room to find Portia scrutinizing every piece of my outfit laid out in front of her. "What are you doing?" I ask with a smile.

"You can tell a lot about what type of environment you'll be placed in by the type of clothes they give. See this jacket?" She holds up a seemingly thin, black over coat that is long enough to hit well above my knee. "It's made with this material that reflects body heat. And these socks," she pulls a long cream pair out of the pile. "These will always keep your feet warm if they are dry. Once they get wet, though, they are basically like normal socks. So make sure you keep them out of water."

She went on to give instructions about how to take care of each and every garment, and what to do if (God forbid) I stain them. I zone out. The way I see it, I'll be lucky to survive the first five minutes with my new orders from Haymitch, there is no need to take note on the "proper" way to clean my shirt after getting dirt on it. Hell, the shirt would be lucky if it _didn't _get shredded.

After she dresses me and declares it suitable, Portia sits me down on the immaculate couch. "It's almost time. Is there anything you'd like to eat? I could go get something," she stands up in a fluster. "What do you want? Water? Tea? Coffee?"

I can't help but laugh at her antics. "I'm fine, Portia." I say as I pull her back down to a sitting position. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You really should eat something. How about more coffee?"

"No, no. I'd rather not." The truth is I doubt I could hold anything down, even water. My stomach twists with nerves. The minutes tick by like seconds.

I'm surprised that Portia stays silent, but then I realize - she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to do or how to make me feel better. I look up at her and attempt a smile. "Thank you, Portia. For everything you've done," I say.

She smiles at me brightly. "You are such a good kid, Peeta." Her voice betrays her emotions, and her eyes start to water. "Such a good kid." The tears fall freely down her face, but she doesn't say anything else.

I'm glad for the silence; it gives me time to think. The Games will be starting in minutes. I can't believe it_. I'm not ready_. I silence those feelings as quickly as they come. I must be ready. There is no other option. It's be ready or die. To ease myself I go over the rough plan Haymitch sketched out for me this morning. Not that it helps.

I let my mind wander. What's my family doing? How are they feeling? I wonder if they are already crowded on the couch with the windows drawn. Quietly awaiting the start of the Games, and silently hoping they won't watch me die. I hope they don't, too.

My mind then drifts to Katniss, as it normally does. I can picture her now, sitting calmly and assuredly, back straight and head high, awaiting the start with confidence. Will the plan work? Will it be enough? Will she survive? So many unanswerable questions, so many things left to chance. I hate this. I hate this with every fiber of my being. Why must she have to go through this? Why her?

I'm interrupted by a cool, female voice telling me to prepare for launch. It's time. I feel myself stand and start to walk to the circular metal plate. A hand clenches around my shoulder and pulls me into a hug. Portia's tears wet my shirt, but I pat her back and hug her just as tightly. "Be strong, Peeta," she whispers. "Be strong and come back. Please, come back." Her plea reminds me of Miri and I choke back a sob knowing, yet again, that I can't make that promise. I can't assuage her worries.

Instead I hold onto her tighter. I hold onto her until I unwillingly have to relinquish the last hold I have to the real world and step onto the plate. She grabs my hand and squeezes. "I know you'll protect her, Peeta. And I know you'll come back." Her tears are gone and she's staring at me straight on. I feel myself believing her, though I know I mustn't.

A glass cylinder lowers around me, cutting me off from my final link. She puts her palm against the barrier and I place mine against hers. She mouths good luck and I can't help but think of Effie and her infamous, "and may the odds be ever in your favor!" It makes me chuckle and releases some of the tension. I feel the plate start to lift and watch as Portia's tear streaked face slowly disappears.

I travel through darkness. I shift my stance and take in one last deep breath.

_Here it goes._

The plate lifts me into blinding light. I shut my eyes against the brightness. A strong wind pushes my hair into my face, and I shove it away, my hands shaking.

I need to relax, but that seems almost impossible because I'm finally here, in the arena. This whole week's worth of preparations and planning—_constant_ planning—all comes down to this. Right now. It's hard to believe. I don't want to believe.

I slowly let my eyes adjust to the sun. Before I even begin to comprehend my surroundings, Claudius Templesmith, the Games' announcer since before my father's time, proclaims in a deep and practiced tone, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

***

The small clearing is thrust into silence as his echoing words slowly fade out. No one moves, no one breathes. It's pure peace. Every pair of eyes is greedily scoping the distance between themselves and the plethora of treasures that promise them their survival.

All eyes accept mine.

No, instead of planning my strategy in the very few seconds I have, I find myself staring at Katniss, and I'm not entirely sure why. My eyes were immediately drawn straight to her, and now I can't make myself look away.

I take back my statement from last night. She looked gorgeous yesterday, absolutely stunning. But right here, right now, I can't help but think that she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Because even now—seconds before we are about to face the horror of a lifetime—her back is straight and her head is high. Looking at her calms me down and steadies my racing heart. There's just something about her—I can't place it or name it—that soothes me.

I give my head a shake. Now's not the time to be thinking on those things. My eyes still follow Katniss intently, and now I can make out the slight shift in her stature, the tiny slant in her body now facing more toward the Cornucopia and less toward the safety of the trees.

_No. She can't be thinking...._

Her face turns to the forest before quickly looking back in the direction of the center. I follow her gaze and am not surprised to see what's causing her sudden uncertainty. A majestic, silver bow is perched innocently in the mouth of the gigantic gourd.

_She can't. _

I try to subtly get her attention. It's useless, though; her eyes are transfixed solely on that damn bow.

The seconds are running out. I quickly try to come up with a plan to protect her while she retrieves her weapon.

Could I shield her? But how long would that last before someone like Cato cut through my defenses?

Should I just drag her out forcefully? That would completely destroy the plans Haymitch had for me, but I don't care. All I care about is her safety—her survival.

But I don't know what to do. I can't think straight, can't formulate an idea that might work. Katniss moves again, a tilting of her feet toward the direction of the glowing Cornucopia, and though I know it's probably pointless; I start shaking my head violently. It's my last chance, my last resort.

And miraculously, it works. Her head swivels in my direction and squints as if trying to make out what I mean. The gong goes off, and the disruption in the peace is almost tangible, it happens so fast.

Katniss pauses on her plate, realizing her chance is gone, and that there's no way she could risk it now. She stops for only a second, before jumping right into the thicket.

I watch from my high vantage point as she reaches a backpack at the same time another boy does. I'm off and running toward her without another pause, and not because of the boy—he's young and weak—but because of who I saw behind him. The girl from Two. I know from training that she is deadly with knives. And right now, she is setting her eyes on Katniss, a natural target; she practically has a big, glowing number 11 on her back in the eyes of the Careers.

I sprint faster, hoping to intervene them before she throws. A boy, from 5 or 6, I don't know, falls dead in front of me, a spear sticking out of his gut. I don't have time to move and trip helplessly over him, sprawling onto the dirt.

I look through the anarchy to see the girl throwing a knife at Katniss' back, but instead of lodging itself in her back, it hits and sticks to the florescent orange bag she has thrown over her shoulder. I jump to my feet, already following her with my eyes. Making sure no further harm comes to her.

I stand still amidst the swirling chaos erupting around me. I don't move. My eyes never waver from her departing form. I watch as she makes it to the sparse shelter of the trees, and as she turns to look back at the fighting. I have an urge to tell her to run, to get away while she can, but before I can act on anything; she disappears into the shadows.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my sigh heavy in relief and pain. Relief that she's safe from this gory death and pain—pain, that she's gone—and all that entails. Will I see her again? Will she survive? I struggle to keep those dark thoughts from taking root inside my head.

_Not here, not now_, I remind myself.

I'm still standing motionless lost in thought; my body facing the forest, when something suddenly barrels into me, knocking the breath from my body and managing, some how, to send me flying through the air. I feel the pain before even before I land sprawled on my back. I heave in air, trying unsuccessfully to regain my lung capacity.

A dark, hulking figure makes its way toward me, but I'm blinded by the sun and can't tell who it is. I can guess, however; and by its huge shadow, I'd say with absolute certainty that it's one of the Careers.

Instantly, I know I'm in danger. The fear of death sends tremors down my arms and legs.

_I'm going to die._

As soon as I let that thought flash through my head, I feel myself springing up. Ha, I've never been one for giving up, and that's not going to stop now.

With the sun at my back, I can see who my attacker is—and it doesn't surprise me—it's the boy from Four, the one I jokingly insulted less than twelve hours ago. Apparently, he didn't find me very funny.

He jumps back in surprise at my sudden movement, before growling low in his throat and crouching back down. He doesn't move forward yet, instead he starts to circle. I mimic his actions, always keeping the same distance between us. I take this short amount of time to examine him.

He's obviously been fighting already. His simple tunic is drenched in blood, and guessing by the way he's carrying himself, it's not his own. He does, however, have a cut on his lower calf that keeps him from putting all his weight down. This will be his weakness, and my advantage.

My eyes flash to what he's carrying. His left hand is loosely holding onto a long and heavy spear. The good news is he seems very uncomfortable with it, like he doesn't know how to use it effectively. I sigh, that's one relief.

It's what's in his right hand that gives me chills—a sharp, serrated blade, like the kind Rooba, the butcher in Twelve, would typically wield back home—and by the looks of it, he's perfectly at ease with the knife.

If only I had a weapon. I might be able to take him. I look around me, only to find that most of the fighting has now traveled to the Cornucopia. We're alone near the wooded edge, and there's nothing but sticks to help me now.

Hopelessness starts to seep into my veins, as I become conscious of the fact that I have no chance.

How could I have let this happen?

If I die, the whole plan is ruined, but most importantly if I die, Katniss might too. And just as suddenly as the desperation came, it's gone, and instead replaced by a strong sense of confidence. I can do this. I _will_ do this. For her. For Katniss.

If there is one thing my two older brothers taught me, it was how to wrestle. From an early age they had used me for practice, and so it has become instinct to defend myself. I'm pretty good at it too. At our annual wrestling competition back home, the only person that I couldn't beat was Pekar—a fact he never let me forget.

I let my eyes rake over my adversary. I know if given a fair match, I'd be able to take him without difficulty. But this is the Hunger Games, and it's anything but fair. The cameras are probably zoomed in on us, The Tragic Lover against The Fishboy. I can see the headlines now.

Even though he has the advantage of a weapon, I know wrestling is the only defense I've got. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll be able to knock the knife out of his hands before he gets the chance to kill me with it. It's a plan filled with many holes, but it's all I have.

I don't know why he hasn't attacked me yet. With his weapons, he has the upper hand and could've easily overtaken me while I was forming my plan. Maybe he's enjoying watching me scramble, I don't know, it seems likely, what with the was his eyes are glowing, like this is his favorite game and he knows he's about to win again; either way, I don't care, he gave me the time I needed.

We're still slowly pacing in a circle, and it's then that I notice how much closer we are to the ledge. We're no longer near the forest's edge. I realize what he's been trying to do. He's been slowly backing me into the dead end, so that I'm forced to either jump off and surely die, or try to escape his advancements by running, which would mean a knife in the back. He's clever and patient. Two deadly traits in this game.

I have to act now or die. There is no time to loose. I take a deep breath and try to steady my heartbeat, before surveying the area between the two of us. I'm lucky. The ground is flat and free of branches that could trip, spotted only by a few stones the same size as my fist. The Cornucopia is still far enough away that we don't have to worry about people interfering. It looks like most of the fighting has stopped already, which means all cameras are on us.

There's no more stalling, I'm now only a few yards away from the drop-off.

I contort my face into a scowl, and then charge with a swiftness I didn't know I possessed. He's taken by surprise and does not aim as he tries to instinctively stop my advances with his spear. It doesn't even come close to hitting me, and instead goes soaring uselessly over the ledge.

He tries to brace himself with his legs, but the injury to his calf makes him unsteady. He still has the knife grasped firmly in his right hand, and as if realizing it's his only hope, he holds it out steadily in front of him.

I can't run straight into him anymore without hitting the knife. So I come to a halt a few feet away from his outstretched hand. We just look at each other for a few seconds, noting that neither one of us will give up easily.

He's the first to move, but I'm the one that's ready. With his knife slashing, he runs awkwardly forward, trying to fatally wound me enough so that I can't escape.

I step to the side and let him pass me, carefully avoiding the deadly arc of his knife. Before he can turn around, I have him facedown on the ground. His left arm is pinned under his body, but the arm holding his weapon is not. I keep all my weight on him, as I carefully try to free the knife from his grasp. He's strong, and won't let go. He bucks his hips, trying to get me to fall off. He can't get me to move.

I lean toward the hand—unknowingly lifting some of my weight off his back—and try to unclench his fingers. They don't budge.

He gives another mighty push, and with the absence of all my weight, is able to flip me onto my back. He straddles my hips and lifts the knife into the air, preparing to strike. The metal blade glints in the sunlight as he brings it down.

My eyes squint close and my arm rises intuitively to block my face from the blow. The knife cuts open my forearm, and I grunt in pain, my eyes flying open.

My uninjured arm flies up and punches him in the nose. Blood spurts instantly, and he pauses in his attack to put both hands over it. He's too focused on his pain to notice my hands fanning out around me, looking for something—anything—to fight with. My left hand bumps into a fairly sized rock and I grasp onto it.

This is my chance, and I seize it. With all the strength I can muster I bring the rock down hard onto his head. The abrupt pain makes him drop the knife, but his flailing limbs send it flying a few feet to the right.

I roll him over and am able to hit him again. He groans and spits out blood before managing to knee me in the stomach. Air rushes out of my lungs and I fall onto my back. He's up quickly and before I can roll away, he punches me hard in the eye.

I curl up in pain, and he brings his fist down again, this time hitting my lip. Blood fills my mouth and its' disgusting salty taste, springs me into action.

I jump to my feet and before he can stop me, I take a dive for the knife. He's right behind me, and as my body hits the ground, he slams on top of me. Flipping me onto my back, his hands wrap around my throat. His arms ripple with muscles as he clenches down on it with all his might.

My hands beat his chest repeatedly, but it's no use. I can't breathe, and my efforts are slowly coming to a stop. Black spots appear around my vision. My arm falls to the ground beside me defeatedly and hits something hard. I realize with a jolt that it's the knife. With my last strength, I grip the blade, and without pausing to think, without even pausing to consider anything, I bring it down hard into his chest.

The hands around my throat instantly slacken as he gasps in shock. I pull on the knife, and stab him again in the heart. He falls to the ground, spasms shaking his body, and doesn't attempt to get back up. His eyes find mine as he coughs up blood, the hateful blue orbs clouding with pain and finally shutting as his body gives one final twitch before laying still.

I suddenly remember the fight me and Katniss had before all this began.

_"And how many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"_ I had said, oh so naїvely_._

_"There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife and you'll at least stand a chance."_

I can't help but find it slightly ironic that she was right.

I sit back on my haunches, heaving in air. It's then that I notice my audience. All the Careers, minus the one I just killed, stand in a loose circle around me. From their faces, I can tell they are impressed. I stand up, and attempt to look casual, surprised at how well this panned out. It looks like Haymitch might actually get what he wants.

A girl—I think from District Four—moves forward and stares at me with unmistakable awe. "You killed Julius," she tells me; I assume that that's the boy from Four's name. Turning toward the other Careers she says, "He was the best fighter in our District, he trained everyday for this."

"Obviously he wasn't that good if Lover Boy was able to take him." The huge boy from District Two sneers.

"Shut up, Cato." A girl, I believe from his district, tells him off. "You watched him fight. I know you were impressed. We need him."

She gives him a look, and Cato nods. I can tell something significant just happened. "You're right. We could use him." There's some hidden sinister ploy behind his words, and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Katniss, who of course, would be his immediate rival and enemy. He only received a ten, and he's humiliated and determined to prove his superiority.

He turns back to me. "Alright District Twelve, you can stay. But if there's any funny business," he pulls a knife across his throat threateningly, "I'll kill you."

I nod. I imagine I can hear all of District Twelve cursing me. The Careers have never been well liked back home, and I bet I seem like a traitor now that I'm with them.

Well, Haymitch. You better be happy. I don't know how I managed it, but you were right, they would accept me. And despite how much I know I will despise this, it's exactly what I need. If I'm with the Careers, I'm at the advantage. I can take them down from the inside, and if they manage to find Katniss; I'll be there to come up with a diversion to let her escape. It will make it a hell of a lot easier, too. I'll have food and shelter and weapons at my disposal. And near the end, when there's a handful left, and I've gained their trust, I can take them all down at once. Then Katniss will be able to survive. I smile inwardly at the thought.

Yes, Haymitch, you are a genius.

I notice the other Careers don't look too happy that I have suddenly joined their ranks, but they keep their comments to themselves. It's quite obvious that Cato and his partner are the leaders here.

Cato either doesn't notice the tension or chooses to ignore it. "Right, then. I'm Cato from District Two, and this is Clove," he points to the girl who reprimanded him. "Also from Two."

I nod my head in introduction, but don't say anything. They have to consider me like another Career. Which means I basically have to act like an arrogant ass the whole time.

He introduces the pair from One. "The blonde's Glimmer," he points at a girl I'd consider pretty, if it wasn't for the huge scowl on her face. "And the boy's Marvel." I nod to them both. Their names making me chuckle inside. District One is the manufacture of all the gems for the Capitol, go figure they'd name their children after their pretty little profession.

Cato then points to the girl who spoke out about Julius. "And this is Calpurnia." She nods to me, respect evident in her eyes. "Alright then," Cato continues. "We should set up camp by the lake, so that they can take away the bodies."

We all nod, and make our way to the Cornucopia. Marvel and Calpurnia rush forward to get the tent pack out from deep in the gourd.

"What's this?" Marvel's voice echoes. There's scuffling inside, and I can hear pleading. Marvel and Calpurnia appear back outside, a small boy trapped between their arms. "Look what we found," Marvel says with a smirk, pushing him forward, he falls to the ground.

"Please," the boy begs, scrambling to his knees. "I can help you!"

Cato laughs at this and grabs an evil looking sword. "How exactly could you help us?" he asks out of amusement. "You don't even look big enough to hold up a twig, let alone a weapon."

"I'm from District Three and I know all about electronics." Tears spring from his eyes and I feel pity swell in my chest. He looks to be around thirteen. He's still a child. He shouldn't be here.

"You know the bombs they have activated before the Games start? The ones that blow up if someone starts before the sixty seconds are up?" He's talking fast and panicky, but he's got the Careers attention.

Clove steps forward, "You have a minute, kid. Explain."

"Me and my mentor came up with the plan during Training, since obviously I'm no threat physically," he says calmer now, more assure of himself. "The landmines they have set up, well, they deactivate right after the set time is up, but they don't disappear. Look,"—he points to the ground about twenty feet away—"they're just underground. Deactivated, but there."

"Get to the point," Cato warned threateningly.

The boy jumps, shaken. "The point is that I can reactivate them. I do it all the time back home. It should be no problem. And if I do that, you have active bombs at your disposal. You could use them for whatever you wanted to, just as long as they were stationary."

Wow, the kid has a point. I'd bet even the Gamemakers never considered this ever coming up. And I don't know what causes me to do it, maybe its because the boy looks so helpless and pathetic, but I step forward and in front of him.

I can practically hear Haymitch spitting at me: _You can't alienate yourself from the Careers in the first five minutes, kid! Don't be stupid! _

The Careers look at me as if I've gone mad, but I ignore them. "Think about it," I urge. "We could use them for _anything_. Protecting the camp, or the supplies. If we had that type of protection, there'd be no need to leave a bunch of us to guard while the rest go hunting. It'd only take one."

Clove turns to Cato, grinning evilly. "He's right. It's genius. If a person attempted anything while we were gone, they'd be blown to bits!"

Right. Hadn't thought that far into the plan.

Cato looks upset that he doesn't get to kill the boy. "If you can't find a way to activate them by tomorrow morning, then you're dead."

The boy nods, but doesn't seemed fazed. Apparently, he's pretty confident that he'll be able to pull it off. I have to admit, if he does accomplish that feat, I'll be extremely impressed.

"All right then. Bring him to the land mines, and make sure one of you stays with him. I don't want him trying to pull any funny business." As Marvel and Calpurnia follow his instructions, Cato turns to the rest of. With a pompous attitude, he tells us what to do to set up camp.

A few hours later everything's done. The sun is high in the sky, and the temperature is sweltering. A few of the Careers want to go swimming in the lake to cool off, but Cato stops them.

"We need to sleep," he says. The sunlight glints off his teeth as he speaks, giving him a maniacal appearance. "Because tonight," he continues. "We go hunting."

Everyone else laughs and high fives each other before settling down to rest. I shiver involuntarily and hope will all my might that he meant we're looking for fresh game.

I, however, know better.

**A/N:** Well, there you go! Hopefully it meets your expectations. The idea of Peeta killing the boy from District Four came to me way before I started this story, so I'm glad I was able to put it in.

I just noticed something when I was helping a friend study for her test on the play Julius Caesar. A bunch of names in the Hunger Games are from that play. Cinna, Portia, Octavius, Cato... And so I took some from the play to name District Four's tributes.

Hope you guys liked this chapter, and thanks for being patient. I'm sorry it took so long, I lost touch with the story for a little bit. And I know it cliché to say this, but it's true, I won't abandon this story now. So don't fret. Haha, I'll try not keep you all waiting again. As always, please review with your thoughts.

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	8. Fear

Disclaimer: I only like to fool around in the brilliant playground that the Great Suzanne Collins created.

**i cant believe i can review ()**, I sincerely hope that I've saved humanity by updating. **:D**

Thanks for the encouraging reviews—this chapter is for you.

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Sleep does not come easy.

My dreams are filled with the cold, hateful blue eyes of a boy that is no longer around. A boy that I killed.

The Careers are all still fast asleep around me. I shake my head and sit up, trying to rid my mind of those memories. It's not easy. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I ended someone's life. Even if it was in self-defense. He's dead. He's gone. Because of me.

He had family and friends, goals and ambitions, likes and dislikes—he was human. And yet, it was so easy, so _damn_ easy, to take it all away from him. To kill him.

I groan and rub my eyes hard, pushing those thoughts away. My arm stings as I lift it above my head in a stretch. The blood has soaked through the bandages I haphazardly put on a few hours ago.

I suppose I should rewrap it. Sighing heavily, I force myself to stand and make my way toward the supplies at a very slow pace.

I almost fall at the pain that shoots up my leg when I take my first step. I look down. The knee's grotesquely swollen and it won't bend backwards. I can't even remember what I did to it.

Reaching the large, fort like structure, I dig around until I find the small first aid kit. Upon discovering it, I sit and lean my back against a large box containing dried foods.

I flinch as I unravel the soiled bandages and see the extent of the wound. It's long and stretches from the inside of my wrist to the outer part of my forearm. Thankfully, though, it's not deep. I spray some anti-infectant nonetheless, and then wrap it up quickly.

My knee throbs as I look unsuccessfully for some pain reliever pills. There are none, and I'm not surprised. This is the Hunger Games. They _want_ you to feel pain.

I try to get up but then decide against when my knee aches. Instead I just rest my head against the box and close my eyes.

I must've dozed off for a bit because when I awake the sun is farther along in the sky. Yawning, I look around at the still sleeping Careers.

How can they sleep so soundly? Can they really be that heartless?

_Yes, they can_, I think. _They don't care about the fact that today they ended lives—children's at that. All they care about is winning, and the glory that comes with it._

But are they really to blame? That's how they were raised, with the ever-reminding notion that winning the Hunger Games would finally bring acceptance in their twisted culture.

Then I think of Cato, and how he heartlessly slaughtered crying kids, and I don't know who to blame.

I notice two shadowed silhouettes across the clearing. I make out one as Marvel and the other as the tribute from District Three.

I don't know why, but I feel a need to know this young boy. Curiosity fuels me forward, and I ignore the pain as I hobble towards them.

The boy is too busy fiddling with something to see my approach, but Marvel notices.

He frowns. "Where are you going?" he asks accusingly, as if walking across the clearing is somehow an act of violence.

"I'll take over now. You can go back to sleep." I don't even recognize my own voice. It sounds gruff and demanding and confident—it reminds me a lot of Haymitch's.

He looks hesitant, but exhaustion wins over. "Alright then. Watch him carefully. I don't trust him." With lethargic movements, he makes his way over to the others before collapsing into a deep sleep.

The boy looks grateful that Marvel is gone, but doesn't say anything. I watch him for a few minutes, before quietly breaking the silence. "What's your name?" I drop Haymitch's tone, and instead use my normal one.

The kid looks up surprised, searching my face for some sort of trick. I smile at him, and he seems taken aback for a moment before answering my question. "It's Obel," he sounds confident and assured, so different from this morning.

I nod and smile again. "I'm Peeta." I say politely. "So, have you figured out how to rewire the land mines?"

He ignores my question and instead asks his own. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" I quip back.

His face contorts into a scowl. "Cause you're working with the Careers now."

"So are you."

This doesn't deter him. "Yeah, but it's different." I raise my eyebrows. "I'm more like a slave to them," he spits out, nodding furiously to the sleeping Careers. "You, however, are _with_ them. "

I don't say anything. I can't exactly defend myself.

"And you know what's funny? I actually thought you were a good person." He laughs contemptuously. "Tell me, do you really love her?" he questions snidely. "Or was that just part of your whole nice guy act as well?" His eyes burn into mine, and I'm shocked at how impossibly green they are, how icy and bitter and…old.

Where's the sniveling, cowardly boy from yesterday?

"And what about your own act, Obel?" I ask severely. "The whole defenseless little boy ruse you pulled this morning? Huh? What do you call that?"

A tense minute passes. He eyes continue to stare hard into mine.

He puts his work down and turns to me, a small grin gracing his young features. "Good point," he says. "I guess you're right. We both have our own strategies. Truce?" He holds out his hand.

I smile broadly and take his hand. "Truce."

"You know, this doesn't mean we are in an alliance or anything," he says grinning slyly.

"Oh, of course." I say. We both laugh quietly. "So, how's the rewiring going?" I ask curiously, looking over his shoulder at the confusing mass of intertwined wire.

"Almost done with the first one," he says, lifting a small black device for me to see. "Once I have it completely wired up any slight movement or contact will cause it to explode."

I nod, ignoring the bile that rises in my throat.

_It will be your fault when someone dies from this_, I remind myself. _All yours_.

He must see the mix of guilt and disgust on my face. "I know. It's a death I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy," he says shaking his head. "But this is the Hunger Games, and we must do what we have to in order to survive."

"Here, here." I say disheartened, knowing I disagree with his thoughts, but refusing to fight a losing battle by trying to convince him otherwise.

The truth is I'd never change for these Games. I'd never become a monster. I don't know whether that's because I've already accepted my death here or if that's just me.

But I do know that even if Katniss wasn't here, and I hadn't already condemned myself to dying, my father's parting words would stop me from becoming anything I wasn't. Sure, I'd try my hardest just like the rest to survive, but _I_ wouldn't change. I wouldn't let him down like that.

We sit their silently for a few minutes, both mulling over our own thoughts. After awhile he starts to tinker with his explosives again, and I stay next to him, quietly watching him work.

A creeping feeling starts to tingle up my arm and legs—like I'm being watched. I look toward the Careers, expecting to catch Cato's eye or something, but they're all still asleep. I sweep my gaze around the clearing finding nothing. My body is still tingling. I don't know how I know, but I'm certain that someone is watching us.

I imagine Thresh's eyes following my every move—waiting for the perfect moment to attack—and I can't suppress the shudder that runs down my spine. I'm being paranoid. I force myself to take deep, calming breaths. I can't shake the feeling of being watched, though, so I try to distract myself.

"So, what exactly did you do back in District Three?" I vaguely remember learning a little bit about his District in school, but they never taught us much, just a brief overview of their economy. From that, I know they are responsible for manufacturing electronics for the Capitol.

"I was an apprentice at the explosive factory," he says proudly, before his eyes start to cloud over with sadness. "I only had few days left of my apprenticeship before all this"—he gestures wildly around the clearing with his hands—"started." He takes a breath. "I would have been fully instated by now," he murmurs quietly to himself.

He looks up with renewed fervor. "That's why I'm doing all this," he tells me earnestly. "I want to go back. I want to get instated—make my mother proud of me. I _need_ to get back."

He looks at me with such hope in his eyes that all I can do is smile gently back. I can almost feel my heart break a little. "I hope you get to too, Obel." I tell him. For a split second, I see the little kid shine through those green eyes that have been forced to grow up much too quickly. Where his only wish is to please his parents and make them proud. I have to lower my gaze to my lap in order to stop the water that wants so desperately to flow out.

I hate the Capitol with every fiber of my being.

How dare they do this? How dare they force children to go through this? To rip their dreams and hopes and lives away before they've even begun to live. How dare they?

I've never been so livid in my life. I want to do something—anything—to show them they can't control me—or any of us. I want to holler at the top of my lungs about the injustices and ask them what gives them the right—the right to control our lives with such cruelty and fear.

What makes them so superior to us?

Nothing does. But it's our fear—our fear that keeps us bowing into submission, lets them take our children, while we do nothing to stop them. It's our fear that holds us back.

I want to scream and cry and make people understand that it doesn't have to be this way—that we can change it—we can stand up for ourselves.

But I let fear settle in my stomach, and I do not move. I do not scream or cry or try to make someone understand. I just sit and let the fear consume me.

~/~/~/~

Night creeps upon us, and I can hear the Careers starting to stir. Obel turns to me. "Time to go back to our acts," he says with a grin.

I nod, but can't force myself to smile. Instead I try to stand, but my knee is stiff and I end up stumbling. Obel is suddenly there and steadies me before I hit the ground. I rest my hand on his shoulder in gratitude.

"You're wrong," I find myself whispering. "I wasn't acting. I love her, and I'm doing all this"—I wave to the Careers and then back to me—"for her."

_So that she can survive_.

The words ring with conviction, and I know he believes me. But I'm not sure why that makes me feel so good. Why do I want to make sure this little boy considers me a good person?

I turn away from his questioning gaze, and start to make my way slowly to the others. I feel his eyes burn into my back, but I don't stop.

By the time I've reached the Careers, all of them are awake. Cato and Clove are to the side, arguing about something fiercely, but being careful enough to make sure that none of us can hear what is being said.

I sit on my sleeping bag, and try to stretch out my knee. The swelling is starting to go down and I'm able to bend it slightly back. The pain is still severe and I find myself wishing for my father. He always knew how to ease the pain. Something—I'm sure—he picked up from visiting Katniss's mother countless times over the years. But I cannot think of anything to rid the dull ache, so I try my best to focus my thoughts on other things in order to forget about the pain.

The image of Katniss fleeing into the forest comes to my mind. I hope she gets far enough away so that we won't accidently stumble across her. I think of ways that I could protect her from Cato's deadly arm. But nothing seems good enough. My best option is to find her first, then figure out a way to divert the Careers from spotting her. This will have to suffice, and I pray to God it will be enough.

Cato strides back from Clove, and by her furious face, I can tell he won their little dispute. "Right then," he starts. "We'll set out after the anthem. We'll carry on through—"

Almost on cue, the seal of the Capitol appears in the night sky, and Cato abruptly shuts up. The anthem blares out loud and insistent, drowning out all other sounds, before it slowly fades away. The sky darkens as it always does before they show us the pictures of the fallen.

We know the number of fatalities. The cannons had finally fired after we had cleared away all the supplies and had gone far enough away for the hovercrafts to get in. There had been eleven in total. That means there are thirteen—including myself— left to go before Katniss can return home victorious. I smile at that thought, nearly half way there.

The smile is swiped from my face once I look up at the sky. Those cold, blue eyes stare down at me one last time, and I imagine I can read the accusation in them. I repress a shiver and lower my head, refusing to see the faces of those that died. All around me the Careers are hooting and congratulating each other on their kills.

The last photo fades out and they fall silent. Cato stands back up again, smirking broadly, proud of the fact that he has killed the most tributes so far. "Right, so as I was saying, we'll carry on until dawn, and then we'll come back and deal with him," he says pointing at Obel, who is still at work on his explosives. "Hey, Bomb Boy!" he calls out rudely. "Come here now!"

Obel drops his work and scurries over to us, keeping his head down. "Y—Yes?" he stutters, with such fear in his voice that I almost believe him. But then I remember that this is all part of his act, and I'm astounded by this little boy, who is so unbelievably brave as to even try to pull this off.

"You're going to stay here and guard the camp," he says loudly.

Clove huffs and turns her head away in disgust. It's obvious this is what they were arguing about.

"Is that smart?" Glimmer questions. "Couldn't he just make away with all our food?"

Clove seems as if she is about to agree, but Cato cuts her off. "He won't try anything. He's too afraid, aren't you Bomb Boy?" Cato says superciliously. "He knows what I'll do to him if he did."

Obel gives a convincing nod. "I—I wouldn't dare."

"You see? It's fine." he states pompously. "You'll have tomorrow to finish up on the land mines since you won't be able to work through the night. Here take this and sit by the camp. Make sure no one tries to take anything."

Obel takes the proffered spear and meekly stumbles toward where Cato told him to keep watch. He catches my eyes and surreptitiously winks. I flash him a brief, small grin.

"Now," Cato continues, oblivious to out short exchange. "We have two night vision goggles," he says proudly. The others break into an excited murmur. Most years, they don't even include them, they are such an advantage. So it's lucky and very rare that we now have two. "I, of course, will wear one. The other, we'll leave with Bomb Boy," his tone leaves no room for argument, but I can tell the other Careers are upset at this decision. They say nothing, though, and seethe in silence.

Cato smiles at their obedience before him and Clove turn and start to dig through a box behind them. Cato stands first and throws a piece of wood at me. Instinctively, I catch it and bring it up to my face to examine it more closely. It's a large torch, the handle probably the length of my entire calf. The wood is smooth and polished, and it weighs surprisingly next to nothing.

Marvel is also given a torch. The others hold flashlights. I've only ever seen them a couple of times back home. Portable electricity is a rarity—a luxury for the richer families.

Clove instructs me and Marvel on how to light our torches, and soon the night air is an orange glow from our combined flames. It gives an eerie quality to all their grim set faces. Hallowing out their eyes end elongating their shadows. I resist the urge to look away from the unnatural sight.

We are doled out weapons and I'm given a spear, almost as long as I am tall, and a sharp knife. It's the same style and the same length as the one I used this morning. I don't want to look at it, so I stick it through my belt. I can't help but think it's the exact one, but I know that's not true. That knife was still embedded in his body when the hovercraft took him away.

I take a deep breath, calming down my fluttering nerves.

Cato, his face covered by the goggles, motions for us to follow him. The others fall in behind him. I stall, picturing Katniss in my mind, and begging with all my heart that she is safe in some tree, away from these merciless hunters.

I take one last shuddering breath, then turn to look at Obel. He nods at me and points after the others, mouthing good luck. I smile and pause to give him a thumbs up before rushing forward to catch up with the group.

_I'm coming, Katniss. Be ready._

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**A/N:** Shorter than my others, but I thought it came to a natural end here. Next chapter will probably be up in a week. Sorry guys, I have a research paper to write (cause I'm a procrastinator) so that's what will consume me this weekend.

**Small contest**: If anyone can figure out why I decided to name him Obel (cause I always have my reasons), I will give you a hundred cyber space balloons! Or a sneak peak of the next chapter. Whichever you prefer. ;) This is hard, and if anyone guesses it...well, then, you're a bloody genius.

On to more exciting news. THEY ARE MAKING A MOVIE! **YES! YIPPEE! HUZZAH**! I'm sure you all have heard by now, but if you haven't I'm glad I gave you the happy, happy news. :D

Now...who do you think should play Peeta?

REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!


	9. Innocence

Disclaimer: Yep, I own it...in my dreams.

So Contest: Yea, I'm honestly not surprised that no one got this, but here it goes- Alfred Nobel, the Father of Dynamite and the creator of the Nobel Prize, all in all, a pretty cool guy. The dynamite thing fit, and so did the peace prize (Obel's peaceful...ha) so there we have the perfect namesake. Now, many of you are probably like why Obel and not Nobel, and well, I thought Obel sounded cooler. So yea...

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Fatigue settles into my limbs as I struggle to keep moving forward. We've been at this for hours, yet the Careers show no sign of stopping. I walk with a heavy limp, setting all my weight on the long spear so as to keep it off my knee. My arm has bled through the bandages again, but the pain is gone and so it's easy to ignore. My exhaustion, however, is not.

I've slept for only a few hours in the past two days, and am now feeling the effects. My eyes blink close once more, and I momentarily revel in the instant relief this action brings before vigorously shaking my head again.

I must stay alert. I must be ready.

_If the others spotted Katniss_…I don't even let myself finish that thought, it's too horrible. Even though I know it's pointless to worry—Katniss is smart and no doubt already prepared for us—I can't help the nerves that flutter around in my stomach.

The moon hangs low in the sky, illuminating the forest around me with a ghostly, silver shine.

The faces of my companions are eerily shadowed by the looming trees. Their heads swivel from side to side, on the look out for anything suspicious—like movement or the smoke of a fire. It's hard to make out anything in this environment, but the rest of my party is relentless.

They want blood, and they want it bad.

The sky is still black, but I can tell morning is fast approaching. We'll have to stop soon. I almost laugh in relief at the mere thought of sleep.

Keeping the weariness out of my voice, I call out to the others. "Night's almost over. We should head back. That kid won't be able to defend camp in the daylight."

The Careers either don't hear me or ignore me. They have stopped dead in their tracks, all gazing intently at Cato's stationed figure a little bit ahead. He's the only one who can truly see through the dark, and it appears as if he's spotted something in the distance.

All is still except for the flames that dance high in the torches, casting flickering shadows over the trees and our motionless bodies. The silence is deafening.

He suddenly moves, extending his arm out toward the sky. "Smoke," he whispers and then takes off at a sprint. The others are quickly behind him, their forms quickly disappearing into the forest.

I stare bewildered at the now empty clearing, amazed at how fast they got out of there.

They really are bloodthirsty.

I start to limp after them as fast as my knee allows me.

_Please, don't be Katniss. _

It's a ridiculous thought. Of course it's not Katniss; she would never be that stupid. She promised Prim she'd come home, and I know she'd rather freeze than break that promise. She wouldn't start a fire.

The Careers are crouched in the brush when I finally catch up to them, quietly spying on the fire-starter. The smoke is pungent in the air—as if whoever started it fell asleep and forgot to stoke it.

"She's mine," Cato whispers menacingly. "I found her so I get to kill her."

_She?_ I can't help the shiver that runs uncontrollably down my spine. It's a girl.

I grip my spear more tightly. If it is Katniss—it's too late to distract them now. I'll have to fight.

Cato steps into the clearing soundlessly, and I am right behind him, ready to defend.

It's still dark out, but the small fire illuminates the even smaller girl sleeping beside it. Her dirty blonde hair shades her face from view.

Relief fills me, and I loosen my hold on my weapon. It's not Katniss—even though I should have known it wouldn't be.

Cato pads closer to the girl, drawing out his sword, the rasping metal creating a foreboding echo in the silence.

Someone steps on a branch with a loud snap. The girl—as if sensing our presence—bolts up into a sitting position. Her face is a mix of terror and shock, her hand flies to her mouth but only partially stifles the scream that erupts from it.

Cato advances on her, careful to let her see the glinting weapon in his hands.

"No," she whimpers. "Please, no!" She attempts to scramble backwards but Marvel is already there and pushing her back. She loses her balance and lands face-forward in the dirt.

The Careers laugh at her clumsy attempt.

The girl lifts her head and looks straight at me. "Please, no. I don't want to die. Please, don't," she begs pitifully.

I wish I could help her—I wish I could do something, anything to save her from this inescapable death. But I can't. I know it, and she knows it, and the Gamemakers know it. But that doesn't make it any easier. This little, innocent girl still has to die.

Her eyes swell with tears and she drops my gaze, as she realizes that I'm not there to help her. She frantically scans the clearing, looking for any means of escape. She lets out a choked sob when she finds none, and then covers her face in with hands again. "Oh, please, no. Oh, God, no," she keeps repeating as if trying to block out the world.

My heart breaks for this girl, who is so young and so weak, and so unprepared—so damn unprepared—to have her life taken.

The other's raucous laughter breaks out again. Cato—as heartless as ever—walks toward her with a sickening smile etched on his face. The girl feels his presence and her frenzied pleas reach a new level of urgency,

With one lunge he plunges his sword deep into her stomach, causing the girl to let out a blood-curdling scream. Her eyes droop shut and she curls her body around the wound as Cato pulls the weapon out.

The Careers break out into loud cheers as he nonchalantly leans over to wipe the blood off his sword with her pant leg.

Marvel whoops out, "Twelve down and eleven to go!" The others laugh and high-five at this realization.

Clove steps forward and examines the girl's small pack. She pulls out a half-eaten pack of crackers and some flint.

"Nothing good," Calpurnia notes. "But we should take it with us so that no one else can use it."

The two girls stand up, Calpurnia shouldering the virtually useless pack.

Cato kicks dirt over the fire, not entirely smoldering it. "Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking."

I murmur in agreement along with the others.

"We should head back to camp now. It will be daylight soon," Clove says with authority to Cato.

I wait for the snarl and shout to shut up, but it doesn't come. He just glances at her and nods in agreement. No words or sneers—just a nod.

I suddenly realize that he considers her an equal. Cato—the overly confidant, malicious, and violent boy—considers Clove—a girl—an equal. I also realize that I never want to know what she had to do to prove herself to him.

We stop in a clearing about a hundred yards away from the dead girl. "Alright," Cato starts. "We should start heading back now, we don't want—"

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Marvel interrupts, ignoring the seething glare Cato shoots him.

"I'd say yes," Glimmer answers. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

Marvel nods. "Unless she isn't dead."

Cato looks murderous now. "She's dead," he snarls. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" he argues back.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Clove tries to mediate.

Her attempt does nothing to dissipate the tension in the air. Cato's furious that someone's trying to usurp his authority, and Marvel's to stubborn to care.

"Yeah," Glimmer agrees. "We don't want to have to track her down twice."

Cato's face turns red. "I said she's dead!"

I'm so tired I don't even hear Marvel's heated response. I just want to sleep.

Cato opens his mouth, ready to defend his point but I beat him to it. I'm too tired and I don't want to stand here debating for the rest of the day. "We're wasting our time!" I shout harshly over their voices. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

They all look at me in surprise. Cato's face contorts into a sneer. "Go on, then, Lover Boy," he says snidely. "See for yourself."

I turn before anyone else says something and head back the way we came.

I make it to the clearing in less than a minute to find the girl lying in a scary pool of blood. Her eyes are open and they take awhile to focus on me. When they do, she opens her mouth but no words come out, only an agonized moan. Her hand raises and beckons me closer.

I walk until I'm kneeling beside her. She tries to talk again, "P—Please," her voice is quiet and strangled. I can barely understand her. "Please, m—make the pain go away. Make it stop." Her soft, baby brown eyes stare into mine pleadingly. "Please," she rasps out.

"Shh," I tell her. "It'll be over soon." I take the knife out of my belt, gripping it tightly in my clammy hands. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I reach over with one hand and gently shut her eyes not wanting her to see the killing blow.

With one steady hand, I raise the blade into the air.

I pause, not knowing if I can do this. Not again.

She lets out a struggled moan, and I gain my resolve. I have to do this—and with one steady breath, I bring the weapon down hard.

She gasps and I see more tears trail down her face, but she keeps her eyes closed. Her fingers wrap around my hand that still holds tightly to the knife embedded in her body. I feel as they slowly loosen their hold and finally fall limp at her side.

She opens one eye and stares at me. Her lips form a tiny smile, but she's only able to hold it for a few seconds. Her chest rises more slowly now, hardly moving. She opens her mouth slightly and at first only air comes out. "Thank you," she finally breathes. Her eye gradually drifts close, but her body continues to struggle for survival.

My hand softly smoothes away the hair from her face. The hilt of the knife sticks out from her chest but I can't force myself to remove it.

I stand and move away from her. "You're going to a better place,"—I abrubtly realize that I don't even know her name and pause awkwardly before finishing quietly to myself—"where there won't be pain anymore."

I think she heard me because she gives a small groan. I can't stand to watch this innocent girl die while knowing that I can't do a single thing to prevent it, so quietly, I make my exit.

I pause briefly outside the clearing to compose my face before heading back to the Careers with a heavy heart.

_That's your second kill. How many more will there be?_

I ignore that cruel but truthful voice and keep going. The Careers stop talking once I come into earshot and I deduce that they must have been discussing me. At the moment I can't make myself care, so I continue on until I'm standing with them.

Cato turns to me. "Was she dead?" he asks.

"No. But she is now." Almost on cue the cannon fires. A snide smile sprouts on Marvel's face. I don't want to be delayed with another fight so I quickly intervene. "Ready to move on?"

Cato nods and breaks off in a run with the others at his side. My knee prevents me from running after them, but I'm able to keep up a brisk enough pace that I enter our camp only a couple minutes after they do.

"Alright, listen up," Cato calls. "You," he says, pointing at Obel. "How long until you're done?"

He bows his head and answers meekly, playing his act flawlessly. "A—A few more hours, I think."

I turn my face away to hide my grin. This boy is good, and Cato is pompous enough to eat it all up.

"So we can sleep until mid-day," Clove says.

"Yes," Cato agrees. "And then we can construct the death trap."

Everyone laughs while I try to hold back a grimace.

_You're fault_, my conscience reminds me.

"I can take the first watch," Cato continues. "Lover Boy, you'll take the second."

I stifle a groan and nod. Unbelievable. Of course, when I'm dead tired, I'm chosen for watch.

Cato takes up position in the middle of camp, and the rest of us climb into our sleeping bags. Dawn has broken and the air is full of birdsong. I pull the cover over my head, trying to block out the noise, and am only partially successful. It doesn't matter, however. Birdsong or not, I'm out the minute I close my eyes.

~/~/~/~

Cato roughly shakes me awake. "Get up," he says. "It's your turn."

It takes all my effort to open my eyes. I groan loudly and sit up. My arms instictively stretch above my head. I stifle a yawn and look up at Cato.

"Good. Now, here, take this." He thrusts me a spear. "Hurry. I'm tired."

I force myself to stand and Cato, satisfied, gets into his own sleeping bag. "Wake us up when Bomb Boy finishes." And with that he pulls his cover over his head and falls asleep.

Still half-asleep, I stumble my way over to Obel before collapsing next to him. "You cannot believe how tired I am," I complain.

He glances at me and smiles. "Rough night?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. "They're crazy," I add as an after thought.

He chuckles. "I heard a cannon go off. Was that you guys?" My mood instantly turns somber. He must notice. "Who was it?" he asks sympathetically.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "Some little girl. Can't remember her District."

He nods. "Did Cato do it?"

I put my face in my hands forgetting about my exhaustion. "He cut her, but she didn't die from that," I say quietly. "We left, but we didn't hear the cannon go off, so I offered to go back. She was still alive when I got there—"

I take a deep breath, unsure even to myself why I'm suddenly blurting this all out. "And when I got there," I repeat quietly. "She…she told me to make the pain go away. She was suffering slowly, so I killed her. I wanted to put her out of her misery, she asked me to. I didn't—"

"Peeta, stop." Obel cuts off my rambling. "You did the right thing. You have to stop beating yourself up about it."

I know he's right but the guilt doesn't go away. Obel tries to change the topic. "So, did you see your girlfriend out there?"

He manages to make me smile. "Nope. Not even a shadow of her."

He mocks a sad face before turning serious. "So you were serious yesterday. You really do love her?"

I nod solemnly, leaning up against a boulder. "I have since I was a kid."

Obel whistles sadly. "Real piece of luck, you ending up in here with her."

Grimly, I remember Effie's infamous phrase. "In Effie's words, 'the odds were _ever_ in my favor' this year," I say sarcastically.

"Effie? Who's Effie?" he asks confused.

"District Twelve's escort."

"Oh, yeah, I remember her now. The crazy one with the pink hair?"

"Yep, that's Effie," I laugh. I wish I could see her face right now. It's probably hilarious.

We're quiet for a little bit. He works and I let my thoughts drift. For the first time in awhile, I think of my family. I wonder what they are thinking.

No doubt me and Obel are dominating all the screen time right now, unless there's another battle going on somewhere else. We're the two rebels fooling the Careers. The audience is probably on the edge of their seats waiting eagerly for us to get caught in our act

I wonder what my father thinks. He knew I liked Katniss when I was a kid—I wasn't very subtle about my feelings then—but I think he thought I got over it a long time ago. He must've been shocked during my interview, as well as the rest of my family, and let's face it—all of District Twelve.

And they all must have been shocked—and angry—when I joined up with the Careers. I'm sure all of District Twelve considered me a traitor. I hope they realize soon, if not already, that I'm doing this for Katniss.

Obel breaks me from my thoughts. "It must be hard for you knowing you might have to kill her or at least knowing she'll have to die."

"What?" I ask bewildered.

"I said it must be hard knowing that in the end she'll have to die for you to go home," he says again.

I shake my head vehemently. "I'm not going home," I say. "And she's not going to die. That's the only reason I'm here—to make sure she makes it back, that she lives."

He's surprised at the intensity of my words and just nods in response. "You're a good person, Peeta."

I frown and shake my head. A good person wouldn't have killed two people.

"You are," he says. "It's incredible what you're doing. Really, I'm glad I met you."

I grin at him. "I'm glad I met you, too," I say truthfully. And it is the truth. I really am fortunate to have met him, this little boy that's been forced to grow up way too fast.

We smile at each other for a second and then he gets back to work.

"How much longer do you think it will take?" I ask him.

He looks at the pile of black devices around him. "I'd say an hour, maybe two."

"Alright then," I say. Exhaustion hits me but I refuse to close my eyes.

I keep up a steady conversation with Obel that keeps me from falling asleep. Until finally, nearly two hours later he stands up and stretches his arms.

"Done," he says. "Finally. Do you think I could get something to eat?"

I suddenly become aware of my own hunger. "Yeah, let's have lunch before we wake the Careers up. Once we do, we'll have to work," I say with a grimace.

He laughs and helps me stand. "Excellent plan."

We quietly make our way to the supply pile. I grab a few apples from a pack while he digs around for some dried meat. With our food in hand we go and sit beside the lake.

I toss him an apple before biting into my own.

"Ahh," he sighs as he leans back. "This is nice. I never want to wire a bomb again."

I laugh and lie back as well. "I never want to _watch_ you wire a bomb again."

I throw my apple core into the lake and grab some dried meat.

Out of no where, I feel goose bumps score my flesh. Once again, I get the inexplicable sense that someone is watching me. My eyes score the clearing, but there's nothing to verify my suspicions.

Obel notices my behavior. "What?" he asks, also looking around.

"I think someone is spying on us," I whisper quietly.

"Why?" he looks slightly fearful. "You think it's Thresh?"

I don't admit it, but that's the thought that makes a shiver run down my spine. "I don't know. I'm probably just imagining it, its fine," I say. "But we should wake the Careers up soon."

He nods and finishes his apple. "Alright, let's go," he says reluctantly.

Once we manage to wake them up, Cato takes charge.

"So, I say, today we plan out a strategic way to do this and then set up the pile, and tomorrow we add the explosives. That sound good to everybody?"

We all nod and get to work.

Obel, still acting meek, suggests a way to have the bombs far enough apart that one, if activated, won't set all the others off. Cato agrees and the two of them mark the ground where the explosives will go with twigs.

The rest of us sort out the supplies into organized piles. Clove has us set apart a small amount of food for our packs. The rest will go into the "death trap" as it is becoming known as.

The sky slowly begins to darken, and I suddenly realize that day two in the arena is coming to an end.

_Congratulations Peeta_, I think darkly. _You're still alive._

Cato calls us to stop, and we eat again as the anthem starts to play. I can't stop myself from looking up at the picture of the girl who was apparently from District Eight. Her face looks happy and care-free in the sky, a lot different than the memory I have ingrained in my head.

The Careers cheer and pat me and Cato on the back. I ignore them and continue to eat.

Another life gone.

_How many more will die at my hands?_

I don't know the answer and that scares me more than it should. I'm in the Hunger Games. I need to stop caring. But that's impossible and I know it. I'll always care, and though it might make me a better person, it sure in hell won't make this any damn easier.

I burrow deep into my sleeping bag and allow the dreams to take me as far away from this inescapable hell as I can.

Which isn't very far, saying as my dreams revolve around a pair of icy, blue eyes and a set of soft, brown ones. Both accusing in their glares, both dead…because of me.

I don't sleep much again.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews, nearly 30! Wow, I'm shocked. :D

**Announcement**: I came up with an idea for another story in the Hunger Games genre and want to know if you guys think it's decent. I won't post the synopsis here because frankly I hate long author notes, and plus, I don't want to bore people who don't care. ;) So, if you want to read it just PM me or leave a review and I'll send you it. I would love some help and advice on this next story. I'm really excited about it.

Anyways, thanks for the reviews and hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll try to get the next one up soon. :D


	10. Chance

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Hola! How is everyone? Not sick with H1N1 (p.s. - this is me blatantly making fun of its new name) I hope. :D Anyways, thanks for all the amazing reviews, that was the most I've ever gotten for a chapter.

Also thanks for the support for my next story. Mainly I wanted to tell people about it so that I will actually get around to writing it. Now that people are interested I'll have to finish :)

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The bird's loud song is what finally wakes me from my fretful sleep. Yawning, I cover my mouth with my hands and sit up, surveying my surroundings.

Marvel is slumped over a boulder. He must have fallen asleep during his watch, which for him, was very stupid. If Cato woke up and saw him, he'd be in for it. My eyes quickly scan over him and turn toward the shimmering water front.

Dawn is just breaking out over the lake, and its usual pristine blue is now a mirage of fiery colors. It's a beautiful sight, and I consider waking Obel up to see, but once glance towards his sleeping form makes me change my mind.

He's resting at my side, the covers of his sleeping bag pulled up to his chin. The sun gives his face a rosy tinge, and his still boyish features look almost angelic in the light.

I find myself thinking yet again that he should not be here. This young boy, still so full of hope and innocence, does not deserve this fate. Him above all, should live and be happy, should marry and fall in love, should have kids and die old. He deserves everything—but he won't get it.

That truth crushes my soul more than anything—more than Miri's tears, and more than my mother's refusal to love me, even more than Katniss' rejection. The fact that this little boy will die before his time is nearly too much for me to handle.

I tear my gaze away from his face and stand up, forcing myself to take care of the hunger beginning to gnaw at my stomach. Weaving my way through the sleeping Careers, I grab some food and sit on one of the supply bins. The forest spans out in front of me, and I lose myself in the peaceful nature scene.

Taking a bite of an apple, my thoughts drift toward Katniss. I haven't seen her since the start of the Games, and it's strange not having her around me. After days of forced companionship, I got used to her presence, and now that I'm finally alone—I realize and miss its absence.

I wish I knew what I was doing. I wish I knew how to save her. But I have no clue—not even an inkling as to how to eliminate all the competition and leave her standing. I wish I did.

I sit there for awhile, staring into the forest, trying to come up with something—anything to get her through this, to have her win. I sit and think and strategize, but no plan formalizes. Nothing seems strong enough—reliable enough—to use with success. I don't know how long I sit there until I'm interrupted.

"What are you thinking about?" Obel's clear voice brings me from my reverie. He comes into my viewpoint and then sits beside me on the bin, following my gaze to the woods.

At my silence his eyes travel to my face, trying to decipher my expression. When he sees nothing, he nudges my shoulder with his own. "You can tell me, " he whispers quietly.

The thing is—I know I can tell him. I could tell him pretty much anything. It doesn't matter that I only met him a few days ago or that we are in a fight to the death. What matters is that I trust him, more than I have ever trusted anyone before. It's as simple as that.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" he asks gently, breaking through my thoughts.

I nod without looking at him, answering his question. I don't need to ask who he's talking about, I know and he knows that there's only one 'her' that I'd think about. I can't help but smile slightly. He already knows me too well.

"What are you going to do?" he questions.

I don't answer for some time, and he doesn't prod me to talk. He sits with a serene ease beside me, comforting me more with his silence than words ever could.

Finally, I speak. "I don't know what to do, Obel," I can hear the agony and stress seeping through my voice, and I know he hears it too.

My hands move to shield my face from his piercing gaze. I'm ashamed by my weakness, but that doesn't stop the tears from welling behind my eyes. They struggle hard to break loose and fall freely, buy I don't let them. I refuse to cry. I need to be stronger than that. Removing my hands I meet his eyes steadily.

"What don't you know?" he asks soothingly.

I take a deep breath, deciding whether or not to tell the truth. If I do tell him—the truth, I mean—than he'll know that I'm trying to plan a way for Katniss to win, which means he'll have to die.

_We all have our own agenda_, my thoughts urge me. _He must know already that you want her to win. He's not stupid._

I decide to just tell him. Maybe he'll even help me plan. "I don't know how to save—"

We're suddenly interrupted by Cato's loud groan coming from the pile of sleeping Careers behind us.

Obel, as quick as a flash, is already up and scurrying away toward his sleeping bag, before I even have time to blink.

Cato stands yawning loudly, his arms stretching above his head. The girls are awakened by his movement and slowly start to get up themselves. Obel—the perfect actor—sits up and blinks dazedly.

Marvel jumps from his slumped position and stands up immediately. It's too late, however. Cato already saw him asleep on the job.

"What do you think you were doing?" he starts, his voice increasing in volume with every word. It's obvious Cato hates Marvel for yesterday, when the boy tried to usurp his authority. You can tell he's just waiting for an excuse to yell at him—or inflict harsher punishment.

I step in before it gets ugly. Although I don't like Marvel either, if a battle breaks out, who knows what might happen. Cato could just decide to get rid of us all, and I wouldn't stand a chance against him.

"Calm down, Cato," I say quickly. "I took over watch a couple hours ago."

Cato—still red-faced—turns toward me. He can't argue with that. It's evident that I have been awake for awhile. In an effort to have the last word he spits out, "Next time, ask me before you decide to switch up the watch schedule."

He strides toward the make-shift supply pile. "Bomb Boy, get over here."

Obel races forward without a second waisted.

"Now," Cato says, facing the rest of us. "You guys construct the pile exactly how I tell you to, while Bomb Boy, here, sets up the bombs. You all got that?"

I nod mindlessly with the others, thanking the luck that I woke up early enough to eat breakfast.

~/~/~/~

The morning temperature quickly changes to blazing heat as the sun makes its way across the sky. It's afternoon by the time Cato is fully satisfied with the death trap.

"Now, you're sure that one bomb won't set off all the others, right?" Cato asks Obel threateningly.

"Yes, sir," he replies in his fake meek voice. "I'm positive."

"You better be right," he threatens. "I don't want any idiot coming and blowing it all up."

"Well, if they do," Glimmer says. "Then they'll be blown to bits as well, which sounds fine to me." She cackles evilly and the others join in with her.

Clove picks up a sack of apples resting beside a box. "Wait, we forgot to put these somewhere. We can't just leave them here. They're easy pickings for any tribute."

"You're right," Cato says. "We could just divvy them up now and keep them in our packs."

"No," Marvel argues. "That's stupid. There's no need to keep food in our bags when we have plenty here. And I want all the room possible for weapons."

I can tell Cato agrees with Marvel, he doesn't want to waste room on food either, but his pride won't let him admit it.

"I know," Obel's quiet voice calls out. "Why don't you hang the sack on the tree? Nobody will be able to reach them there."

"That sounds like a good plan," I say, careful to mask my voice. "Let's do it."

Cato nods his head begrudgingly and throws the sack toward Obel. "You do it then, Bomb Boy."

Obel catches the burlap with a flick of his wrist and then is expertly climbing the tree beside the pile. Almost a minute later, he is already balancing on the branch above the trap, and with one hand efficiently wraps the bag around the branch, so that it hangs tantalizingly above the rest of the supplies.

Obel hops down effortlessly a second later.

Cato surveys the pile. "I think it's good," he comments. "It should knock off a few more tributes at least."

The Careers laugh raucously.

"Don't forget," Cato says, as the others start to move away. "We're going hunting again tonight. We should rest now."

Although I'm tired, I am reluctant to try to sleep. The dreams—still fresh from last night—hold me back.

"I'll take first watch," I hear myself volunteering.

Cato throws me a suspicious glance. "Alright," he agrees after a moment. "Wake me in an hour."

I nod and settle myself against a boulder, watching carefully as the Careers and Obel settle down in their sleeping bags. By the glance Obel sends me, I know he's only acting—the moment the others fall asleep, he'll join me.

I smile surreptitiously to him, silently acknowledging his unspoken words, and rest my head against the rock behind me. My eyes travel the distance of the clearing. Finding nothing suspicious, they dart to the lake, where the rippling waves capture their attention.

I wish I could just disappear into the water—just disappear and not have to face this. It'd be easy to just close my eyes and sink, sink into nothingness. Too easy. There'd be no more pain, no more heart ache, no more guilt—no more useless hoping and wishing and wanting. There'd be no more of anything.

It's pathetic and weak to want it, but I'm beyond caring at this point. Anything—_anything_—would be better than this. The torture of not knowing what's to happen—to Katniss, to Obel, to _me_—it's all too much.

How did I ever think I could handle this? How did I ever think I'd be alright? I created some false image in my head that this would be easy—that all this pain I'm going through would be worth it because she'd survive. And that would be enough. And it is still enough. It's just being here, being _in_ the arena—no longer safe and protected in the Capitol—it's easy to loose hope. Surrounded by death, destruction, and ruthless killers; how can I be sure she'll survive?

The truth is I can't. This is a Game, and no one knows the ending. No matter how much thought and planning and sacrifice I put in, it won't matter; because it's a game, and everything is chance now.

There's a rustling behind me, and I turn to see Obel making his way steadily toward me. He stops right in front of me. "It's hot out here," he says short of breath.

I've been to focused on everything else to notice the scorching heat, but now that he mentioned it, I can feel the way my shirt sticks to my back. Even though my mind wasn't aware of the temperature, my body was.

The sun's in my eyes as I turn my face up to look at him. Squinting, I can just barely make out his eyes, but from what I can tell, he's staring at me intensely. I know he's trying to figure out how to bring up our conversation from this morning causally.

"Want to step in the lake for a bit?" he finally asks.

I glance towards the sleeping Careers, noting their state of deep unconsciousness, before agreeing.

We remain quiet as we make our way to the water front, both lost in our own little worlds.

I curl my toes into the small strip of sand at the beach's edge, enjoying the sensation. Pulling my shirt over my head, I throw it over a boulder—my pants and jacket soon joining, leaving me in my undershorts.

The sun beats down onto my bare torso causing me to sigh in pleasure. I've always loved summer—the heat, the ever present sun, and how the District so bleak in the winter, becomes alive with activity and happiness. It's always been my favorite time. I smile fondly at the memories the heat brings while kicking off my boots and socks.

The water is icy when I dip my toes in, and I can't repress the shiver that runs through my body.

Obel laughs at me, and I turn to see him already waist deep. I throw him a scowl before plunging head first into the water, splashing him with my wave. Resurfacing, I come up to see Obel spluttering and giving me a rude hand gesture.

I laugh despite myself. He splashes me, and I cough as some of the water goes down my open mouth. He laughs loudly at my surprised expression.

"You have no idea what you just started," I say mock-threateningly, before launching myself at him.

We wrestle care-free in the water for several minutes; I'm clearly the winner when he finally calls a truce. A fact I don't hesitate in telling him.

"Oh, yeah right," he says wryly. "Who was just the one crying like a baby?"

"I wasn't crying!" I shout indignantly. "You got water in my eye, how many times do I have to say it?"

"As many times as it takes for you to accept the truth."

"Oh, ha-ha," I say dryly. "Funny. Real amusing you are."

He laughs hard at my sarcasm before quieting. Gently, I ease back until I'm floating, loving the feel of the water lapping around me. My eyes scan the cloudless blue sky above me and my thoughts go back to before Obel interrupted me.

I'm ashamed of myself for even thinking of giving up—of letting go—because that would be giving the Capitol what they want, and no matter how hard this gets, I will never _ever_ let them win like that. Never give them the satisfaction of thinking they destroyed me. When I die—because there's no doubt now—I will die proudly. I will die showing the Capitol they have lost. I won't cower or cry or be afraid—I'll stand tall and look my killer in the eye. I'll stand tall and die. Die for her. For Katniss.

Katniss. It's amazing how that one, seven-letter word can bring such a change in me. Right now, just merely thinking of her has my pulse racing and my heart thudding. Despite the heat, I feel goose bumps score my flesh and a rosy blush cover my face. I dunk underwater and shake my head, trying to banish the useless thoughts of desire running though my mind.

I come up for air to find Obel staring at me.

"What?" I ask, even though I know exactly what he wants.

"What were you saying this morning? You don't know how to do something, what is it?" he asks in a rush.

I knew this was coming. I sigh and stand up in the waist-deep water, not replying. He knows I will so he doesn't rush me. I start to make my way out of the water, and he follows. We lie down on the sand, drying our bodies with the sun.

Resting my arms behind my head, I relax into a comfortable position. My eyes look at the sky and the lake, and everything besides the boy sitting next to me.

"Peeta," he encourages quietly.

I finally turn to look at him and find his green eyes trained on my face. I can tell he just wants to help. I sigh deeply. "Do you have a plan, Obel?" I ask, determinedly refusing to answer his questions first.

He looks confused but answers anyway. "Sorta. It's not brilliant or anything, but I think it will be enough."

I nod. "That's the thing. I don't have one," I groan. "And I need one."

"Why?" he questions simply.

"Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. What am I going to do? How am I supposed to save—" I break off suddenly and stare firmly at the sky, refusing to meet his gaze.

There's silence for only one second.

"That's what you're doing here," he says, his eyes brightening with understanding. "That's why you're with the Careers! I understand now. You plan on saving Katniss."

I don't acknowledge what he says, but I don't dispute it.

"And you don't know how to save her, so you're upset," he draws his own conclusion.

We're silent for a few minutes, both of us lost in thought. The sun is starting to ebb away, and I know I'll have to wake Cato up soon.

As if anticipating my next words, Obel stands up and stretches. He gives his arm out for me, and I grasp it gratefully, pulling myself up beside him. I pull my shirt over my head, and give my hair another shake, trying to dry it faster.

Once dressed, we head to the sleeping Careers. I make my way to Cato while Obel adjusts his sleeping bag and slides his legs in.

"Hey, Peeta," he calls quietly.

I turn to look at him. He's still sitting up, his eyes focused intently on me, appraising my every movement.

"Yeah?" I ask, equally as quiet.

"I know you'll do it—save her, I mean. You will. I know it," his voice is so compelling and honest that I find myself starting to believe his words. But before I can question him and ask how he can be so sure, he rolls onto his side and pulls the sleeping bag over his head.

I stand there for some time, just staring at his still form, daring myself to believe him—trying to let myself believe him. I want to, but I know I can't. This is still a Game, still chance, and I mustn't ever forget that.

~/~/~/~

Cato wakes up relatively easy, all I have to do is tap his shoulder and his eyes blink open alert. He stands and swivels his head back and forth, already gripping his sword, looking for any sign of danger.

"It's your turn," I remind him, keeping my voice gruff.

He nods, running his hands over his eyes. "We'll need to wake the others soon," he says, glancing at the sky. "It's almost dark."

I meet his gaze, acknowledging his words, before turning toward my sleeping bag.

"Hold up, Lover Boy. Where do think you're going? I want to talk to you."

I roll my eyes and clench my fists, trying to suppress an angry outburst; I turn to face him. "About what?"

It's a useless question because I know the answer already. He wants information on Katniss, and truthfully, I'm surprised it has taken this long for him to bring it up.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he says. "Follow me."

And although it goes against ever fiber of my rebellious nature—I listen and follow him across the clearing until we're standing right above the cliff.

"What is this about?" I ask again.

He ignores me and instead looks out across the wide expanse of golden field below. "What do you think is out there?" he question thoughtfully, prolonging what he actually came her to find.

"Thresh," I say after a moment.

His face contorts into a scowl. He's probably still upset that Thresh escaped his attack unharmed by jumping over the steep ravine and into the field.

"Besides Thresh," he presses on.

"I don't know," I say as I look out across the field. The golden wheat is waist-high and seems almost endless. I futilely try to suppress the shiver that runs down my spine. The field is creepy. There could be anything in there. "It looks likes anything could be hidden by the field," I answer honestly.

He nods. "That's what I thought. It's too dangerous to go in at night. We'll have to search it soon, though."

I get goose bumps at the mere thought of traveling into there, but I nod nonetheless.

"Right," he says, turning to me and locking his blue eyes straight on mine. "So, Lover Boy, what's your girlfriend's secret? How did she manage that eleven?"

I retain my composure as I look across the field, my thoughts racing for a good answer.

"I don't know how she got it," I say firmly, already knowing that won't suffice.

"Bullshit. You know—now tell me, what's her secret?" he asks gruffly.

I take a deep breath, annoyed. "I'm telling you, she wouldn't tell me. I asked her, but she wouldn't tell. "

"Well, what weapon does she prefer?"

"The knife," I lie shamelessly. "That's basically the only thing she knows how to use. She's dreadful with a spear."

"A knife," he says in a disbelieving tone. "She managed an eleven with just a knife? I don't believe it."

"Well, I didn't either," I say defensively. "Like I said before, I don't know what she did, or how she did it. It doesn't make sense. Haymitch coached her separately. Who knows what they planned."

"Haymitch," he mumbles to himself, as if his name is the answer to everything. "Damn it. She could be up to anything."

I smile inwardly at my save. Haymitch—although the laughing stock of the Games—is respected, and known widely for his ingenuity, Cato knows this and so my answer seems believable.

"Alright then," Cato says. "If Haymitch trained her, then who trained you?"

"No one," I lie.

"I don't believe you."

"Why shouldn't you? He thought I was hopeless, so he didn't even bother. He just trained her because he saw potential," I contort my voice into an angry, hate-filled tone, and he seems to buy it.

"Well, I don't blame him, honestly. You are pretty useless," he says, trying to wound my pride or something.

I smile mockingly. "The boy from District Four begs to differ."

"That was luck," he replies.

"Right," I say sarcastically. "It was luck."

He turns to me, his face growing red and opens his mouth to say something.

"Cato!" Clove calls. "Shouldn't we start getting ready?"

Her shout interrupts whatever he was going to say, and instead he stares at me hard for a few seconds, before turning toward her. "Yeah, are the others up?" he asks.

I turn toward the field again and breathe a sigh of relief. Glad that's over.

_For now_, I can't help thinking. I know he's not done interrogating me yet. He still wants information on Katniss, so I have to be ready. Maybe I'll ask Obel for some ideas on what to tell him.

"Peeta," Calpurnia calls. "Cato and Clove are ready to set out. They want you."

I nod toward her and begin walking back to the others, trying to prepare myself for the upcoming hours. It's useless, and I already know that.

How can you prepare yourself for something like this? How can you possibly get ready to hunt down people—hunt down children?

_I won't kill anyone else,_ I think resolutely.

I decided that last night, in between the nightmares. And I try to reassure myself now that that will stand true. That I won't kill another person. That I can't.

And although I wish with all my might that I can be certain of it. That a person won't die at my hands—I know I can't.

There is no certainty. This is the Hunger Games. And here, everything relies on chance.

* * *

_**A/N**:_ So basically, the only reason this got done today was because my high school shut down. Why you ask? Swine flu. Crazy, huh? I never thought it would affect my small little town, but it has, and I'm out of school. I shouldn't be happy, but you know...

Anyways, tomorrow I'm off too, so maybe I'll write the first chapter of Fate. I just came up with the outline for it yesterday, and I'm super excited to get started.

Now, I know many of you just want to get to the cave scenes already, and believe me when I tell you so do I. I'm excited to write them. However, I thought this chapter was necessary because if you're paying attention to the real book, it's getting down to the wire here. Obel and Peeta won't have another chance to talk alone again. Tear, tear.** :'(** So I thought he deserved a proper goodbye.

So leave a review and cry with me while we say farewell to our dear, little Obel. Haha


	11. Fire and Finds

Disclaimer: Still the poor teenager I was six months ago, so basically, I'm still not Suzanne Collins.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO RESPONDED TO MY QUESTION! How could I NOT continue after all the overwhelming support? :D

This chapter's for you, Amanda, because you're probably the sole reason I started to write again. Hope you all enjoy!

Mini-Refresher (cause it's been so long): Peeta's been with the Careers now for a couple of days, and he befriended Obel, the district 3 boy, and right now they're out hunting when the fire (created by the Gamemakers) starts.

* * *

It seems darker tonight—more ominous.

I can tell the others sense it too. Their sharp intakes of breath and quick-flashing eyes give them away.

A bird sounds off a warning call, and Calpurnia jumps in start. She quickly camouflages her face with a sneer of cold indifference, but I know better. She's scared.

Glimmer whispers something to Clove—who is leading the group beside Cato—but Clove coldly brushes her off with a shake of her head.

Glimmer sighs loudly, annoyed, and falls back to her place right behind the pair, her eyes squinting in anger. It's easy to guess she wants to call it quits and head back to camp, but Cato and Clove are determined to kill tonight. They're as hungry for blood as the audience.

The entire forest feels wrong. Different. The silence, the darkness—it all reminds me of the peace before a storm, and I can't help but think that the Gamemakers' are planning something.

There have been no deaths for awhile, and right now the viewers are probably getting antsy. And if there is one thing the Gamemakers cannot afford, it's disappointing the audience. Because if that happens—if they bore the people—guess who the Capitol blames, guess who the Capitol kills—them. The Gamemakers.

Somehow, right now, I know that they're planning something big—something that will be sure to kill off a bunch of us, and that will leave the audience wide-awake, something that will guarantee they live to see the next Game.

With that realization, my breath comes out in a sharp gasp and I feel my heart pound.

_Katniss. _

I have to do something. "Cato," I whisper loudly. "We need—" But I'm interrupted.

The eerie calm of the forest is suddenly broken by a loud, hair-raising screech. We all jump simultaneously, our pulses thundering in unison. All except for Cato, who spins wildly trying to locate the noise.

"What was that?" Glimmer whispers, her eyes wide with undisguised panic. "Where'd it come from?"

Cato points deeper into the forest, his face alight with madness. "It came from up ahead," his voice is excited. He wants to kill. "What are we waiting for? Let's get her!" He doesn't hesitate before sprinting in the direction the sound came from, the others following obediently.

Let's get her. _Her_.

By the way he spit out the word, I know who he wants it to be, and that thought sends me careening into the forest after them, forgetting everything except that I can't let him get her. I just can't let him get her.

I outstrip Glimmer and Calpurnia in seconds, Marvel, too, soon falls behind me. But Cato and Clove—the most blood-thirsty of us all—are leading the pack. I put all my energy into running fast, my newly healed knee starts to ache, but I ignore it, choosing instead to push faster. I catch up to them, and soon it's just me and Cato, neck-in-neck, running with no apparent direction.

My thoughts swivel around Katniss. If it was her that made the noise, she's already in some type of trouble. My stomach twists into knots, imagining all the horrors that would cause someone to scream like that.

_Please, don't be her. Don't be Katniss. _

We both stop simultaneously in a small clearing, the others are so far behind we can't even see them.

"Damn it," he curses. "Where is she? She's got to be around here."

I don't move for a second, my eyes scoring the woods. I'm certain that something is wrong, but the forest is silent again, as if the scream never happened.

Cato turns to me and sees my face. "What?" he asks, his voice belies his brave face, and I know he senses it too.

"Something's wrong," I say quietly. "Something's coming."

For the first time, I see real panic in Cato's eyes. He understands, like me, that the Gamemakers control everything here. It's only about time before they start playing with us.

"We need to get back to the lake," he says, all thoughts about the scream gone. "Whatever is coming, we'll fight it better from there with it at our backs."

I nod in agreement, but my thoughts are all centered on Katniss, trying to figure out how I could warn her about this unseen enemy. Give her a chance.

The others finally reach us, all panting heavily; they immediately sense the change in mood surrounding us.

"What's going on?" Clove asks, glancing suspiciously at me. "Where is she?"

"Did you already kill her?" Marvel asks angry, probably upset we outran him.

"No," Cato replies tersely, glaring at Marvel for a few extra seconds before turning to Clove. "That's not the problem. We need to get back to the lake. Now."

"What? Why?" Clove asks confused.

"Look around you. Something's up. We think the Gamemakers are planning something," he whispers the last part.

Something dawns in Clove's eyes. She's clever enough to realize we're right.

Marvel, however, is not. He laughs loudly, raucously. "Are you crazy? What could they plan? You just let Lover Boy get to your brain. Where's your common sense? The real problem here is that you let that girl escape."

Cato growls, and takes a step forward until they're inches apart. "You know what the real problem is?" he says in a low voice, his eyes flashing with insanity. "You—and I've had enough. So how about we solve this right now?"

Marvel smiles mockingly. "That's the best thought—"

Calpurnia starts to scream, her face wide with horror. Cato turns from Marvel, mouth open to yell at her. I watch as his eyes widen, and his face slackens in shock. I turn around, and have to physically stop myself from screaming too.

A wall of fire has appeared out of nowhere, and is descending on us all.

Cato is the first to recover. "Move you idiots! Don't just stand there, get to the lake!"

Terror—pure, animalistic terror—courses through my limbs. My instinct tells me to flee but my body refuses to listen. I'm frozen, stuck where I am about to face an absolute death.

I clear my head and start to sprint, with no real direction. The noise is now deafening, everything a roar, and everything ablaze with orange. I don't know what's happening, where I'm going, or what I'm doing. All I know is I need to get away.

I can't see the others. Smoke is now clouding my vision, entering my throat, clogging my thoughts. I pull my shirt over my mouth, but it hardly helps. I'm still running, the flames everywhere. I can't escape them, I feel the panic setting into my body, the tears running down my cheeks, and I feel like giving up. Like dying right now.

A branch falls, and I trip over it before I can stop myself. Its burning limbs sear through my shirt, and the abrupt pain brings awareness. I can survive this.

With the fire licking at my legs, I stand up, all thoughts focused again. I just need to make it out of the forest.

A deer hurtles past me, and although I can't keep up with it, at least I now know the direction to salvation. I start running after it. My legs burn—both from exhaustion and fire, and my shirt is still smoldering, my body is begging for relief, but I can't stop.

Everything becomes a blur of chaos. I keep in the same direction, not knowing if it's the right one, but it's all I got. Fire surrounds me in all directions now; trees fall and hinder my path. I'm all alone. So alone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of black hair behind a big tree. I stop so abruptly, that my bad knee buckles and I trip. But I know what I saw. I turn back. The fire is reaching its evil hands toward the tree where she is.

"Katniss," I scream, but the smoke morphs my words. I charge back through the burning world, back toward the tree where I saw her. I reach it, my body shaking from both coughs and nerves.

"Katniss," I shout again. "Where are you?" I run around the trunk, looking everywhere, trying to find her through the chaotic mess. It's then that I see the hanging branch of black, withered leaves—the same color as her hair.

_She's not here_.

Despite my own situation, I can't help but sigh in relief. She's not here. Not dying.

I turn back to the problem at hand. Flames now surround me in all directions, and the only thing I can see is smoke and fire. I realize the only way out is through, and before I can change my mind, I'm backing up as far as I can. I take a deep breath than start to sprint, at the last second I jump, but I don't clear the blazing inferno.

My feet scream in pain as the fire hits them, but I'm through in a second, and running again. I don't know how long it's been, but it feels like an eternity—like l died and am now stuck in hell.

And then as sudden as it started, it stops. I'm not surrounded by fire. I'm still in the forest, and I can still hear it and see it, but it's like I crossed an invisible force and it can no longer reach me.

I collapse against a tree, and heave in the clean, smoke-free air. Realization seeps through everything clouding my brain. I can hear waves lapping against the shore—camp is near. I stumble to my feet, my only thought now about water and the relief it will bring.

I don't know how I make it, but somehow I force my feet to move until finally I can make out the Cornucopia and then the lake.

I stumble into the clearing, and Obel jumps up from where he was sitting.

"Finally! What happened to you?" he says, his face torn between anger and worry. "They all came back an hour ago, and I didn't know what to think. They were convinced you had died or ran away, and…hold on, are you okay?"

I shake my head once before falling to the ground, and then everything turns black, and I know no more.

***

Cold water splashes across my face, and I sit up sputtering in shock. Immediately, I realize I've been knocked out for a long time, and I wonder why no one bothered to wake me.

Another bucket of water hits my face. "I'm awake," I shout irritably at whoever keeps drenching me.

"Good," Cato's raspy voice says. Of course. "Now, hurry up, it's prime-time for hunting."

I open my eyes and stare at his retreating form. He's injured, but barely. He must have made it out quickly.

I try to stand, and then quickly wish I hadn't. The burns on my body stretch and hot, searing pain almost forces me to fall, but suddenly Obel is there and he steadies me with his weight.

"Quickly," he whispers. "Yell at me to take you to the water, so the others hear."

Understanding, I let a scowl settle onto my face before saying harshly, "You—Bomb Boy—bring me to the lake."

He hides his smile behind his palm. "Real convincing, Peeta," he says sarcastically with a quiet laugh.

"Oh, shut up," I say petulantly. "I'm in pain."

Once at the waterfront, it takes considerable effort to strip off my clothes, but once I hit the water, it's instant relief.

After a few minutes of soaking, I examine the shape my body is in. The worst of it is a burn that travels the length of my chest from when I tripped over the burning branch, whenever I twist my abdomen the burn bends, and intense pain blinds me.

Obel's washes my clothes out for me, while I rest, and I flash him a smile.

He just nods. I can tell something is on his mind. With that thought, I climb out of the lake and carefully put my clothes back on, wincing when the buttons of my shirt hit against my chest.

The Careers are all by the Cornucopia, sorting out weapons for the hunting trip—they're too busy to notice is us, and too far away to hear.

I sit on the beach to pull my shoes on, and Obel sits down beside me.

He sighs heavily once, before squinting out across the lake, avoiding my meaningful look.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

He doesn't respond right away, nor do I expect him to. I finish tying up my shoes, and then lean against the boulder at my back. He mimics my actions.

"So are you going to tell me?" I question playfully, pushing his shoulder with my own.

He smiles. "It's nothing, really. You just scared me this morning when you fainted. I thought you were dead." His smile's gone, and instead replaced with a thoughtful frown. "And it just got me wondering what I would have done if you really had died…"

"Well, luckily I'm still here. You can't get rid of me that easily." I say, hoping to make him smile.

He just nods again, before shaking his head. "You're right, I guess. You just better not die, you hear? Because I don't know what I'll do without you." His tone is playful, but his eyes are serious.

I laugh quietly. "All right, let's make a deal then. I won't die if you don't die. Sound good?"

He grins. "Sounds perfect."

I put out my hand and he shakes it. We both laugh and refuse to acknowledge that whether we like it or not, our deal will be broken regardless.

***

With nearly an hour left before dusk, Cato leads us out for another hunting trip. I take up the back again, and on our way out, I wink at Obel, who is guarding camp again for the night.

"Remember our deal," he whispers, semi-serious. I smile, and mouth keep safe, before waving one last time.

His grinning face is soon eaten up by the dim light of the forest. We stay close to the lake this time, always only a few hundred yards away from its shores.

Cato and Clove are at the head of the pack again, and it isn't long before we hear the splashing of footsteps through water. Someone's near.

"Come on," Cato calls, his voice nearly gone from coughing. "Let's get her."

Dread wells in my stomach.

_Oh, God. Please, no. _

"Who is it?" Someone asks Cato. He turns to me, an evil smirk on his face.

_Please, no. No, no, no._

"It's our Lover Boy's girlfriend," he says gleefully.

I don't let any emotion show on my face, but inside, I feel like I'm dying. My pulse starts to pound, and I can't breathe.

_Katniss. No._

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get her out of this.

I run as fast as my injuries allow me to, and soon I'm close enough to make out a braid of long black hair climbing a tree. My heart stops. There is no doubt now. It's her—Katniss.

I feel like throwing up.

We make it to the base of the tree when she's about twenty feet in the air. I refuse to look up, not wanting to meet her accusatory gaze, and also not wanting to see her broken-down, surrounded.

Cato smiles triumphantly. "I've got the bitch now."

I crumple my fist at my side, and attempt to resist the urge of punching him in the face. I take out my knife and begin to polish, if only to give my hands something to do and my mind time to think.

"How's everything with you?" she calls down cheerfully.

A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of her voice, it feels like forever ago that I last hear it. I chance a glance up and see her smiling down ruefully, before darting my eyes back down to my knife.

The Careers are surprised by her comment, apparently unaware she has a dry sense of humor.

"Well enough," Cato says, equally cheerful. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. I have to bite back my laughter. Everything she says always catches me by surprise. "The air's better up here," she continues mockingly. "Why don't you come on up?"

I hide by smile by coughing. God, I love her.

"Think I will," Cato replies.

Glimmer offers him her bow and arrows, I resist the urge to look at Katniss, she'll have seen her weapon and be furious. I continue to polish my knife, feeling her burning gaze on my face. My pulse starts to pound again.

"No," Cato says. "I'll do better with my sword." He gets a grip of a branch and pulls himself up.

Katniss is already scurrying up the tree, her feet and hands automatically knowing—instinctively—where to go. She moves so fast it's hard to believe she isn't part animal.

Cato on the other hand, struggles. He's barely ten feet up when the branch snaps under his weight and he comes falling down. He's on his feet immediately, muttering swear words that would make my brother blush.

Glimmer, with the bow and arrows strapped to her back, rushes forward to try.

Marvel, her district-mate, helps her into the tree. "Make sure it can hold your weight," he calls to her.

She makes it about twenty-five feet before the branch starts to crack, and then stops, as Marvel told her to. Taking out an arrow, she attempts to shoot Katniss. Cato groans annoyed, as the arrow misses her by a full yard. It's immediately evident that she cannot use the weapon.

Katniss retrieves the stray arrow, and holds it above her head tauntingly, smiling like a mad-man.

Haymitch was right. She does have a lot of spunk.

Glimmer comes back down, and they begin to argue over how to kill her.

"We could try cutting the tree down," offers Calpurnia.

"That would take to long, plus what would happen if it fell the wrong way?" Clove says. "We could wait until she has to come down," she says instead. "Then we could fight her here, on our territory.

"That could take days," Cato says angrily. "I'm not waiting that long."

It's nearly twilight and I can't stand it anymore. Them arguing over how to kill her is just making it more evident that she's in danger, and that she might die. And I just can't take that thought right now.

I shout harshly over their bickering. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning," I say annoyed.

Thankfully, the Careers see the sense in my words and begin to make camp at the base of the tree. Night settles in, and the anthem starts to play. Surprisingly, there were no deaths today.

I lie on my back, and stare up the tree. Even though I can't see her, it's like I can sense her presence up there, watching me—hating me. I wish I could make her understand that I'm doing this for her, that I'm really not with the Careers for my survival, but for hers.

I don't sleep at all; I just lay there, thinking, and let the night comfort me, willing morning to never come. But come it does and with it the end of my composure.

I hear a snap, and look up startled to see something come hurtling down from above, it obscurs the sun, outlining its shape, and I suddenly realize what it is. With a sickening crack, it breaks open—and then for the second time today, all hell breaks loose.

* * *

A/N: I'm baaaaack. For good this time. And now we're almost to the good stuff. I'd say two more chapters until the cave scenes. Which I'm sure we're all excited for. This was a sad chapter to write knowing that that was the last interaction Obel and Peeta would have before he dies. :( Next chapter will be up within 2 weeks, I PROMISE. And plus, Amanda (a friend in 'real' life) will kill me if I don't...so basically it's a guarantee.

So anyways, what did you think? Do I still have it or no? ;) Tell me.


	12. Rescue

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still not Suzanne Collins. Check back next week.

Two weeks, just like I promised. :) See, you can trust me now! This chapter was fun to write, so I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Time seems to loose meaning as the world explodes around me. Everything blurs and becomes a chaotic swirl of confusion.

The only clear thought running through my head is of Katniss. She's found a way to save herself. Cato can't get her. I try to find her through the anarchy, but she's nowhere. Probably still up in her tree.

The small sense of triumph I get from that thought disappears quickly as I suddenly feel a sharp pain erupt below my ear, followed by the buzzing of insects. At that point I understand what is going on, and it scares me more than I could possibly say. Tracker jackers. And a lot of them.

I remember once when I was eight, there was a tracker jacker nest in my apple tree, and no one knew it was there at first because the tree's dense foliage blocked it from view. Anyways, one day during that summer, my mother had me go pick apples. I was too young to recognize the tell-tale buzzing that would indicate a tracker jacker nest, or the pain and destruction I would cause if I happened to knock it down. Luckily, my father walked by just at the moment I was about to crack it open with a branch and had me out of the tree faster than I could blink. He yelled at me for the rest of the afternoon, chastising my stupidity and lack of awareness. That was one of the only times I've ever seen my father truly angry, and I'll never forget it.

We had to call the Peacekeepers to remove the nest from out back yard. They used some fancy Capitol spray to calm the insects before destroying them all. I remember thinking at the time that I felt bad for them, that they were killed for simply existing. But now, experiencing the pain these cruel Capitol inventions can create, I feel no more sympathy.

I don't hesitate, I start bolting after Cato for the lake; my feet stumbling as I crash through the brush, the venom already affecting my movements. The wasps follow, their stingers finding my skin through the layers of clothing. I cry out in pain as one pierces the burn across my chest, and I trip to the ground before I can catch myself. I feel the sand beneath my fingers and know that water—relief—is near. I force myself to my feet—my spastic muscles scream in pain—and somehow make it to the lake.

Without stopping or slowing down, I dive straight into the water, and immediately feel the reprieve. The cool water manages to keep the tracker jackers away but does nothing for the orange-sized lumps already forming on my skin. They throb painfully, and every move I make is agony.

The venom makes my mind slow. Every thought that runs through seems foreign—not my own. It's the worst torture, not being able to think, knowing that you're slowly dying but not being able to do anything about it. The worst creation, designed specifically to make the victim feel how powerless they are. Force them to realize that they're weak—worthless—incapable of simple thought in the last torturous moments of their lives. The fire from yesterday is heaven compared to this hell. Both my body and my mind—the only thing I thought was safe from Capitol influence—is effected. It's the worst possible death.

I'm able to distinguish pretty quickly, despite my muddled thoughts, that I'll survive this. I didn't get injected with enough venom to kill me, just enough to paralyze me, knock me out; make me defenseless—which out here in the Arena, is basically a guaranteed death sentence. Knowing this, I force myself to stay conscience; using my throbbing limbs and the pain each movement brings to forget about sleep, something I want to do more than anything at the moment.

The early morning sun breaks out from the clouds, turning the lake into a sea of fiery orange. The beauty of it is not lost on me at the moment, despite the situation. I even feel the inexplicable urge to paint the scene, something I always felt back in District 12 when I saw the sunrise.

I sometimes wondered why the Gamemakers made the arena so pretty. Back home, watching the events from the safety of my living room, I always liked to assume it was a last gesture by the Capitol—a small gift, you could say, to the tributes. Give them a beautiful place to die in, if you know, they managed to get over the fact that they were going to die in it. And if they did manage to get over it, then they could spend their last few days in a sort of man-made paradise.

Now, though, I know better. Being here, in the arena, experiencing first-hand the wrath of the Gamemakers; I know they have no room for compassion. No room for any emotion—let alone pity or a feeling of debt owed to us. They're only joy is watching us die, and preferably in the most memorable, most creative, and most painful way as possible. And I'm certain their only reason for allowing beauty in the arena is to inspire more hopelessness in us. Make us feel weaker, more degraded, then we already are. Make us realize what we're leaving behind—life, and the beauty of living—make us despaired, easier to kill off. More dramatic. More fun to watch.

Footsteps come crashing through the brush, dragging my thoughts to the present. Marvel comes running out of the forest—he must've gotten lost, the idiot—and closely behind him comes a new wave of angry wasps, and I'm forced, despite my body's protests, to duck back underwater. I stay there, in the peaceful oblivion that the silence creates for as long as I can.

Under the clear water, if I forget about the stingers lodged in my body, I can pretend that its still yesterday and I'm playing with Obel in the lake.

_Obel._

The thought manages to connect through a hazy fog. Obel doesn't know what's coming, what to expect. I have to get to him, I suddenly realize, warn him. Save him somehow. He can't die like this.

I resurface and take in my surroundings. Cato, Clove and Marvel are deep in the water, avoiding the last few tracker jackers that circle angrily above. The others—Glimmer and Calpurnia—are not here. I try to remember if I saw them running, but the venom clouds my mind, and it's impossible.

I drag myself onto the shore, my arms and legs struggling, but I'm empowered by the thought of a young boy suffering, and I don't stop. Sprawling on my back, the world spins wildly above me. Everything blurs, and I fear that I'll black out, and be left, weak and undefended, in the open, begging for someone to kill me.

But then the earth stills and Obel's face runs across my mind again, and I'm standing and pushing my way forward.

I vaguely hear Cato screaming after me, but I'm too far gone to understand what it is he's shouting or to care. I grab Marvel's spear from the ground where he left it, and force my fingers to clench around its handle

Through my muddled mind, I don't know where camp is. I know it should be close, it's by the lake after all, but I can't think clearly enough to work it out. I growl in frustration, the insects could be getting Obel at this very moment. My foot kicks out at a log, and the pain it brings is sweet relief, because it reminds me that I'm still alive—still fighting.

A canon breaks through the quiet morning air, and like a window being opened in a smoky room, the haziness leaves my mind. I forget about finding camp. Someone's dead, and I've got to know who.

Thoughts of Katniss flash through my head like a searing blade and I start retracing my steps back to the tree—back to where I last saw her. I crash through the brush and distantly I see the others getting out of the water. I push forward harder, determined to find out first.

Another canon sounds, and everything around me stops existing. It's only me, running as fast as I can. I don't know what to expect, what I'll see when I get to the clearing. Will it be her dead body—mutilated and malformed by the insects? I don't know, and the uncertainty has me sprinting faster.

I see a helicopter appear, and stop only to make sure that it isn't her they pick up. The relief that rushes through me at the sight of Calpurnia being slowly lifted away is gone quickly. There's still one more dead. One more chance.

I crash through the underbrush into the clearing, my spear hoisted high, ready for anything—but the sight that greets me is so startlingly unexpected that my weapon falls. My breathing stops.

Everything stops.

Katniss is leaning over Glimmer's dead body, bow and arrow held weakly in her hands. Her crazed eyes unfocused and looking as if she'll collapse at any moment.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss. And then I hear the footsteps of the Careers—of Cato's and his deadly sword—and it spurs me into action. I can't let him get her. He just can't get her.

"Are you mad?" I say angrily. She stares at me like I'm an illusion—like I'm not there. It scares me. "Get up! Get up!" I prod her with my spear shaft, forcing her to her feet.

I can hear him. He's getting closer. And I can't let him get her now. I won't let him get her.

I push her away, in the direction opposite the lake, deeper in the forest—into safety. She doesn't move. "Run!" I scream, pushing her harder away. "Run!"

Cato crashes into the clearing behind me, and I shove her again. She comes to her senses, looks back once, and then sprints off. Her precious blow clutched protectively in her arms.

I turn back to the enemy. My mind refocusing. I can't let him chase after her. I have to stop him. I take in Cato; he's weak from the venom, too. A sting forces one of his eyes shut, and with the other Cato looks at me, radiating shock and fury. "What," he says, his voice trembling in anger, "did you just do?"

And I suddenly know what I'll have to do. How I will keep him here, and away from her. Relief floods my mind, and I smile. She's safe for now. He can't get her.

He visibly becomes more upset at my undesired reaction to his threat. He takes a step forward, sunlight gleaming off his wet sword. "What did you just do?" he asks again, his voice deep with hatred.

I smirk, my smile growing. "I let her go." I say simply. He growls, his body shaking in anger. "Because you see," I continue in an infuriating conversational tone, despite the overbearing pain that starts exuding from my stings again. "She promised to kiss me if I let her escape, and how, pray tell, could I resist that proposition?" I smile, and shake my head sadly. "I just couldn't help myself. I had to let her go."

He takes another step forward. "Think your funny, Twelve?" he says slowly.

I nod, keeping the smirk on my face. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I do." Nonchalantly, I raise my spear in a defending position. My knife is still at my belt, and I rest my other hand on top of it.

Clove and Marvel come stumbling in behind Cato, they're multiple stingers making them slow, and stop abruptly at the scene that greets them. Clove immediately assessing the situation, grabs a knife from her coat, and moves beside Cato. Marvel just stands there stupidly, glancing between us.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing," Cato replies harshly. "Me and Lover Boy, here, were simply discussing our options on how to capture his girlfriend. It appears as if she convinced him to let her go."

Clove's eyes squint in unadulterated hatred, and the words that stream out of her mouth are worse than Cato's. She raises her arm, ready to throw her knife into my heart, when Cato suddenly grabs her hand, stopping her.

"You promised, Clove," he says. "I get to kill him my way, remember?" She looks at him, and some understanding flashes between them.

I'm confused again, by their partnership. His respect for her—it's so uncanny. So unlike him. I don't know how she managed to capture his deference, and personally, I don't think I want to know.

"All right," she says angrily. "But you better make it painful." She stomps toward Marvel, grabbing his arm. "We'll be back at camp."

"Hey," Marvel shouts indignantly. "I want to watch. Cato will probably need help again like he did with that little girl, anyway. We should just stay."

Clove stops Cato from attacking the other boy with one glance. Drawing a knife, she holds it contemplatively in her hands. "If you don't shut your mouth, you worthless piece of trash, I'll do it for you," she smiles contemptuously. "You know I would. Now, we're going back to camp."

Marvel looks like he wants to argue some more, but one glance at Clove's knife has him backing away.

Clove rolls her eyes at his cowardice, before turning back to Cato. "Remember what he did," she says cryptically, confusing me more. "Make him pay." She turns and follows Marvel back to the Cornucopia.

Then it's just me and him—alone, about to fight. I really have no hope to kill him. He's been training his entire life. Preparing for times like this from the moment he could walk.

_But so had that boy from Four_, my thoughts remind me, refusing to give up. I feel resolve fill my weakening muscles, feel it strengthen them. I won't die without a fight. I won't give up so easily—so cowardly. I grip my spear tighter, ready once again, to fight to the death.

"You ready to die, Lover Boy?" he asks snidely. "Ready to join your girlfriend? I saw how she looked; those stings will kill her before nightfall. And there's nothing you can do about it. You're going to die right here. And you'll be begging me to do it by the time I'm done playing with you."

The smile that graces his face is so fanatical, so crazy, that I falter momentarily before regrouping my thoughts. I shake my head, forcing myself to remain focused. The venom is affecting my body faster now, and I know that I will black out soon.

I have to act or accept defeat.

Cato reads the resolve off my face, and is prepared for my first strike. He dodges it easily, laughing, but I know he's weakening too. The pain he feels with each move shows on his face. The venom makes us both slower, and I won't be surprised if the outcome will be determined by who can outlast the poison the longest. Sooner or later, one of us will pass out. And I'm betting on the sooner option.

He swings at my head, and I'm able to side step the blow. He careens past me before he can stop himself. Using the opportunity, I thrust my spear, but my muscles are weak and they miss the mark.

He turns, smiling confidently, and uses his sword to chop off the head of my weapon.

I let it fall, and spring back before he can strike my flesh. Grabbing my knife from my belt, I begin to circle him, like a lion does his prey. Assessing any weaknesses, any chinks in the armor. My eyes zone in on the lump on his face, the one that forces one eye to shut. The wound is already causing him pain, and if I were to hit it, it'd probably be enough to knock him out.

It's not a plan, but it's something. And I don't have enough time for anything else. This is it. All or nothing. No matter what happens, it was worth it. She got away.

_She's safe._

That thought brings with it determination, and I grip my knife tighter. Ready for anything—even death, as long as I bring him with me.

We face each other, waiting for one to make the first move. I stand still, mind alert despite the venom, poised to fight till the end.

A bird sounds loudly, and he starts in surprise, I don't miss my opportunity. I lunge forward, knife ready to sink into the flesh of his face, but he manages to escape the cutting edge by quickly spinning out of the way. My hand flies uselessly through the air, and before I can turn to defend myself, his sword is flashing, the blade catching the sunlight, and cutting open my thigh.

I crumple to the ground before I can catch myself. The wound is deep, and I immediately feel the sickening sensation of warm blood flowing down my leg, soaking my pants. I cry out, and I hear him laugh. Opening my eyes slightly, I see him approaching; see him swinging his sword, debating where to cut me next, which place will cause the most pain. I watch as he chooses a spot right below my heart, and brings up the weapon ready to sink it in…

Before he can act, however, I'm kicking him in the shins with my good leg—the other incapable of moving. He's so shocked that he falls to the ground, the action knocking the breath out of him. He looses his grip on his sword, and I kick it away from his hand. Kneeling beside him, I hold my knife teasingly above his face. His eyes stare up at me, realizing how quickly he lost control of the situation. How quickly he could die. I see fear start to dilate his pupils, and I smile.

"What now, Cato?" I ask quietly. "Hmm?"

I know what I'm going to do. I let him see the knife, let him see me bring it down right above his heart. I let the cold metal rest there. Even let it dig in his flesh a little bit. But then I toss the weapon to the side.

I made a promise to myself and to my father, that I would not let these Games change me, turn me into something I'm not. I plan to keep that promise. Killing him would be sinking to their level—the Capitol's. It would be giving them exactly what they want. And that's something that I will never do. No matter how much Cato sickens me, how much I want to see him dead—I won't do it. I'll make my father proud and myself proud, and I will play these Games by my rules only.

His eyes widen in confusion, but before he can act, I bring my fist down hard—right on the lump below his left eye. He cries out, and his body convulses in pain. I punch him in the same place again and immediately I feel his jaw slacken and his body still. He's knocked out.

I fall to the ground beside him, the wound on my thigh causing me to cry out. The pain—the pain is so great I can't think straight. All I know is I have to get away, far, far away.

I half-walk, half-crawl until I can no longer see Cato's sprawled body. Surrounded by nothing but trees, I let myself rest. My breathing is harsh, and blackness ebbs around my vision. I'm going to collapse soon, and I can't be here when I do. I try to stand up, but my leg won't hold my weight, and I fall back down to the ground. The blood from my leg has soaked through my pants, and just the sight of it makes me want to throw up. With weak hands I rip off part of my jacket and tightly bind it around the wound. It's primitive, but it's the best I can do at the moment. I force myself to start moving; pain dominating over every sense of mine as my body struggles forward.

Everything starts turning surreal. Colors intensify, shapes magnify, nothing is normal. I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that this is the poison's doing, but knowing that isn't making the images disappear. It's too late to try to fight them now.

I don't know how long it takes—it could have been minutes, hours, even days—but at some point I can hear the sound of moving water. It's in a ravine of sorts, and through the haze, I see it as salvation. I lean against a tall boulder at the crest of the hill, my eyesight goes completely black for a moment before returning.

I only have a few minutes.

Pushing off the rock, I look down and see bright blood staining the stone. I try to wipe it with my hands, but only more blood smears onto it. _When did I cut my hands? _I don't remember. I move on, falling more than actual walking, until finally I can move no farther. Soft mud oozes around my feet, and I let myself fall into it. The coolness surrounds me as my mind whirls more out of control.

_What a nice place to die_, I think before finally succumbing to the poison, my body slumping into dark unconsciousness.

And then in that inescapable blackness—the nightmares come.

* * *

A/N: Sort of a depressing end right there. :) So close to the cave scenes, I can feel them. Then we'll be done with the Hunger Games and on to Catching Fire (which will be SO MUCH FUN!). I can't wait to write the rest. And to all who celebrate it, have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Anyways, as it was my birthday a few days ago, I feel as if it's only right that everyone leaves me a review! Any takers? Haha, let me know what you think, and it would make me very happy.


	13. Rules

**Disclaimer**: No.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You guys make me so happy! Anyways, many, many things delayed me from writing this faster. Let's just say December has not been a good month for me. :) My computer crashed, I lost everything on it, and my cat passed away Tuesday. :(

On happier news, Suffering-Ink is going to be translating this into French for me. I'm still so excited about this. :D Thank you, again!

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Time loses all meaning. Everything—_everything_—is pain. The nightmares take over my every sense, my every thought. I have no control.

I don't know how many times I watch my family die—my brothers, my father, Miri. Even her unborn baby. Obel. I see it all, see their tortured faces and hear their screams.

And then Katniss' face starts appearing, and I know I'm in hell. Even though somewhere far, far back in the corners of my mind I know that this is fake—that it's the poison's doing, the Capitol's form of torture, of amusement—it feels real. It looks real. It _sounds_ real.

_"Peeta! Peeta!" She screams in appalling clarity. "Why aren't you helping me? Why are you just standing there?"_

_I try to move but my feet are stuck. I try to reach her, but she's too far away. Too far away. Her screams intensify, incomprehensible now, and I try to close my eyes—to shut out what's happening—but they stay open; forcing me to watch everyone of my worst nightmares pan out. _

And then as suddenly as they came, the scenes change. Katniss is back, unhurt and looking so drastically different from moments ago that I sigh in relief.

_They're over_, I think happily.

And then it begins, and it is way worse than I could possibly imagine.

"_You actually thought I could love you?" She sneers. "Why would I ever do that?" Her laughs sound loudly around me, and I wince visibly._

_She notices, her smile widens, and her teeth glisten with intent. "What?" she asks innocently, stepping closer. "Did you think you were good enough? Did you think you were the one?" I nod before I can stop myself, my body subconsciously answering her words. _

_She shakes her head at that and laughs mockingly, "Silly Peeta." She's even closer now, a breath away from my face. She reaches out a hand and caresses my cheek, her finger slowly gliding over my frozen lips._

_"Why would I ever want you?" she whispers questioningly. Her finger trails down my chin, my neck. "You're not brave." Her hands move to my chest, pausing there. "You're not strong." Her fingers drop from my skin, as if I disgust her, and she slowing starts backing away. She eyes me with malicious intent before saying with conviction what I've always known deep down to be true. _

_"You're nothing. And you'll always be nothing." _

_Then Gale appears, and her smile reappears. She beckons him to her without breaking eye contact with me. He moves to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She leans into him, sighing. _

_"You see, Peeta? This is a real man." She turns to face him, her back now to me. "He's brave." Her hands run through his hair leisurely, seductively. "He's strong." Now she's slowly trailing her fingers everywhere, over his chest, his arms, his abs. "He's handsome. He's everything you're not." She turns to me one more time, her face past recognition. Her smile grows and her laughs are loud and harsh. "And he's everything I want." _

_She turns back to Gale, pulling him roughly to her, and then they're kissing fervently, violently, passionately._

_The pain in my chest is unbearable, and I want so desperately to close my eyes, to make the images and her words disappear, but they echo around me—I can't escape them. They're everywhere. My heart pounds in my head, and I feel myself shaking._

It takes a few minutes before I realize that I'm no longer asleep—that the mud beneath me is, in fact, there, and that the sun beating down on me is real.

_I'm alive_, I can't help but think, surprised.

I slowly try to open my eyes, wincing as they adjust to the bright light.

I'm by a river, I can tell that much, but for the life of me I can not remember getting here. I don't know how long it has been. It feels like years. Vaguely, very vaguely, I recall fighting with Cato and escaping, but then it's blank. The void filled with images from my nightmares. My hands slam over my eyes, unsuccessfully trying to block the memories from coming back, but they do of course—and all over again, I feel like I'm dying.

Minutes, hours, maybe even days pass before I once again gain control. I feel weaker than ever before, drained. I take in my bearings once the world stops spinning and suddenly realize how _exposed_ I am. How easy it would be to kill me right now. And if I was able to survive the last countless hours of my life—which, by far, were the worst I've ever experience—then there's no way in hell that I'm letting some random tribute kill me now.

I try to stand, and then immediately wish that I hadn't. My eyesight goes black as pain takes over every sense. My leg. I can't believe I forgot. Now that I'm thinking of it, the throbbing is enough to make me go mad. If there was one good thing about the nightmares—I was too far gone to feel the pain from the wound.

Recognizing the feeling of near unconsciousness, I let my body rest for a few minutes, focusing on steadying my breathing. I know I can't afford to be knocked out again. Luck is the only thing that kept me alive the last time, and I'm sure that mine is about to run out soon.

Once my heartbeat steadies, I force myself to carefully sit up, trying to avoid moving my legs at all. I bite my lip until I taste blood to stop myself from screaming out loud, it works—but I'm sure any tribute in a fifty yard radius already knows I'm here. I haven't exactly been inconspicuous. But they have yet to attack, so I figure I'm safe for now.

For the first time, I'm able to get a good look at the severity of the cut, since my mind is no longer clouded by the poison. It's deep, real deep, and the primitive form of bandage I have wrapped around it has been soaked through with blood. I peel it off, the fabric sticking to both the cut and my pants, and it takes all my willpower to not cry out. I throw it into the water a few yards to my left, making sure it hits it. I don't need Cato finding that.

I rip off another section of my jacket and wrap it tightly around my blood stained pants. With it covered, it looks nicer. Less…gory.

I glance around, once again noticing how in the open I am. It's still morning, which is a relief. The Careers like to hunt at night, but I suppose that might change now that there's so few of us left. I decide not to test that theory out by lying here.

_But where can I go?_

The trees are out. I'm not Katniss. The only tree I've ever climbed is the squatty little one in my backyard. But I doubt that counts. Plus, I can't even sit up. Let alone climb a tree.

And I also rule out making a camp. There's no way I could defend myself, and I have no supplies with me, since I ditched them when the tracker jackers attacked.

So basically, I have nothing. And I'm wounded. In Effie's words, the odds are _definitely _in my favor.

An hour passes, and I still have no plan. The sun is high in the sky now, and I know my time is running out. I've got to think of something. My mind still seems cloudy, as if some of the poison has yet to leave my body, and the pain from the cut is inescapable. And all the blood I've lost is starting to make me feel lightheaded. I'm no doctor, but I know I don't have a lot of time left. There's no way I can survive this one.

A greenish-silver moth lands on my arm, and I swipe at it halfheartedly; my fingers leave a trail of mud where they hit—and it's then that I get an idea.

It takes awhile, but by the time the anthem has started, announcing no new deaths, I'm satisfied with how it turned out. I'm completely camouflaged in mud and plants to the point of invisibility. Silently, I thank all the countless hours I spent frosting those cakes.

I can barely keep my eyes open now, and honestly, I have no clue if it is from loss of blood or just fatigue. I know I should be hungry or thirsty, but I'm not. The mere thought of food turns my stomach.

I try desperately to evade sleep, but it's useless. Its evil claws—filled with nightmares I never want to face again—clutch me and drag me into the darkness.

A loud cacophony of reverberating bangs rescues me from a particularly vivid dream of Katniss slowly killing Obel. I groan quietly, both from the dream and from the pain, before opening my eyes. Another huge boom sounds.

_What the hell was that?_ I think groggily. It sounded as if a bomb went off…

I immediately sit up, and then hiss in agony as my leg moves also, but I ignore it. That noise could have only been made by the land mines, which means someone activated them. My mind is hazy, but I push past it, thinking fast.

Who was left last time I was awake? The three Careers, Obel—they knew about the mines they wouldn't activate them. Unless by accident.

_Oh God, I hope Obel wasn't in camp. Please, please, no. _

I force myself to calm down. Obel's smart. He wouldn't let himself be blown up by the things he created.

_He can't die._ I tell myself repeatedly, refusing to acknowledge at the moment the impossibility of that statement.

Who else? I struggle to remember faces. Rue and Thresh. Rue I can't imagine being as bold as to steal directly from the camp, and Thresh I can't picture ever needing those supplies. He seemed capable of surviving on his own. Like Katniss.

Dread grips me when I think of her. What if, desperate from the tracker jacker stings, she attempted to take some easy food?

A canon sounds off, making all the birds take flight, and increasing my fear tenfold.

_What if…_ but I refuse to finish that thought. _She's not dead. She can't be._

I refuse to sleep until the anthem plays, needing to know who died as much as I need to breath. I can't _not _know.

The trumpets finally blare, and I wait.

"Please, don't let it be Katniss. Anyone but her. Please, please…" I beg to the night.

An image appears, and it's not Katniss.

And the relief that I expected at that fact does not come. Because I recognize that face. And it should not be up there. Horror fills me as I gaze up into those green eyes I know so well.

"Obel!" I scream, way too past caring anymore. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. He's too young. Too innocent. Too much still a child. I don't even notice the sobs that wrack my body, nor do I try to stop them.

I hope Cato comes. I know he's responsible for this—and honestly, promise or no promise; I could kill him with my bare hands right now. And do it gladly.

I welcome the nightmares tonight. For once, they're better than reality.

Two canons in quick succession wake me next. I can't explain it, but unlike yesterday, I feel certain that one of them is not Katniss. I don't know why, but I'm positive.

It's close to night again, and I realize that I have no clue what day number it is. The tracker jackers were on Day Five, I remember that much. But the days since then have blurred together.

I feel so much weaker now. Even for my life, I doubt I'd be able to get myself out of this mud.

I'm so close to death now. It won't be much longer.

_I'm sorry, Obel. I don't think I'll make it to avenge you. _

The next thing I know, I'm waking to the voice of Claudius Templesmith's voice booming through the arena.

"Congratulations to our six remaining players! Might I say that this has been one of the best Games I've seen in years!" He pauses before continuing. "And to add to the excitement, there has been a rule change."

I stare at the sky confused. He must have misspoken. In all seventy-three years of the Hunger Games, there's never been a rule change. Or really any rule.

"…Under this new rule, it has been declared that both tributes from the same district can win if they are the last two standing."

I gasp in shock, immediately wondering if I'm dreaming. But the pain from my leg is definitely real, and then Claudius repeats it again, as if sensing all of our shared confusion.

The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live.

But before the elation can spread, my leg throbs again, and with it I come back to reality.

And the reality is I won't make it to dawn.

And as if my body realizes how close to death I am, the nightmares don't come again tonight. My dreams are peaceful. Filled with Katniss winning and surviving and living her life outside the arena. And honestly, I couldn't ask for a better last dream.

When I open my eyes again, I know I must be dead.

_So this is what death is like_, I think happily. Katniss is here, surrounded by gray mist, her face just as beautiful and angelic as I remember it to be.

_She must be here to take me to heaven, _I think peacefully.

Almost as soon as that thought crosses my head, I back track. Why would Katniss be in heaven? She's not dead. And then I become aware of the pain, and of the bright sun. I'm still alive.

The shock of that wears off quickly as soon as I see Katniss a few feet to my right. _She found me_.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! And to everyone who 'favorited' or 'alerted'.

Anyways...THE CAVE SCENES ARE HERE! WOO! YIPPY! We're _**finally**_ getting to the parts that I've wanted to write since I started this thing. That's sad. Oh well.


	14. Reality

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, Violets are blue, I don't own The Hunger Games, And neither do you! **

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR _THROUGH ANOTHER'S EYES_, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!**

**Yup, check the date. This story was created one year ago today. Man, it's been a long time.**

* * *

"Come to finish me off, sweetheart?" I ask her in Haymitch's famous drawl. Even to my own ears my voice sounds weak, unrecognizable.

She scans the bank around me, and I can't help but feel proud at how well my camouflage worked. "Peeta?" she whispers. I close my eye so I'm completely invisible. "Where are you?" She moves closer to me, now only a few feet away. "Peeta?" she asks, and her voice is coming from directly above me.

"Well, don't step on me," I say jokingly, looking up at her.

She jumps back in shock, and I can't help but smile at the look on her face. How I've missed her priceless expressions.

"Close your eyes again," she demands, curious. I obey; it takes effort to stop smiling, though. I never expected to see her again.

_She found you_, a voice inside my head tells me. _She must care for you a little_.

"I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off," she says teasingly.

I smile, her presence making me forget about the pain a little bit. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

She squats down beside me, and I'm glad my eyes are still closed because she's probably giving me one of her glares. "You're not going to die."

"Says who?" I resist the urge to add 'sweetheart'. I feel even weaker now.

"Says me," she states defiantly. "We're on the same team now, you know."

I open my eyes at that, trying to see her reaction. Is she glad of that? Or annoyed that she's stuck with a wounded, helpless, more-trouble-than-he's worth district partner? I can't read her face, and that surprised me. "So, I heard," I say. "Nice of you to come and find what's left of me."

She hands me her water bottle, and I take a sip, again, surprised that I'm not thirsty. I'm not good at this medical stuff, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad sign.

"Did Cato cut you?" she asks.

"Left leg. Up high." As if it knows, the wound gives a particularly painful throb, and I clench my teeth to stop myself from shouting out loud.

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she says firmly. I see through it, though. She's just as lost as I am.

A thought crosses my head, and I smile to myself imaging her face. "Lean down a minute first," I say softly. "Need to tell you something." She hovers over me and awkwardly tilts her head to the opposite side. I wonder what's wrong with her ear. I push that thought aside as I bring my mouth as close to her as possible. That'd be just fantastic if the cameras picked up what I'm about to say. "Remember," I tell her quietly. "We're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

I'm only kidding, but she stiffens and her expression is priceless as she jumps back startled, before laughing with me. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." She moves to stand behind me. "All right, let's get you into the water. Can you get out of the mud on your own?" she asks.

I close my eyes, afraid she'd ask that. I try, I really do, to fight against the mud imprisoning me, but I don't make any progress—I'm too trapped and too weak. "Sorry," I hear myself rasp in a voice I don't even recognize. "It's not budging."

"That's fine," she says in an overly optimistic tone. "I can just do it."

Her hands grip my shoulders as she tries to tug me out. I know she's trying to be gentle, but every move jolts my leg, causing me to cry out. I clench my teeth, trying to keep quiet, but it's useless. It's as if I have no control anymore.

She tugs once more with incredible force, and the earth finally releases me. I feel something wet trail down my face, but don't even have the energy anymore to feel embarrassed over my tears. If she notices, she doesn't say anything.

"Look, Peeta," she starts, and I strain to listen. All I want to do now is sleep, but I can't. I don't trust myself. "I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

I resist the urge to groan, not wanting to upset her. She's trying to be confident, despite her uncertainty, and hell, I owe her. She didn't have to find me. "Excellent," I say, in what I hope is a happy voice.

She crouches down beside me, and I look up into her worried eyes. Despite the situation, in the back of my mind I can't help but rejoice at the fact that she's worried about me. Me. But my giddiness disappears as soon as she starts rolling me. My bad leg slams into the mud, and I can't stop the scream that rips itself out from my lips. My eyesight goes black for a few moments, and I swear I see stars.

She stops, glancing frighteningly at the surrounding forest.

I mentally curse my own weakness.

"Okay, change of plans," she says, looking back down at me. "I'm not going to put you all the way in."

"No more rolling?" I manage to get out through my clenched jaw.

She smiles. Sort of. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" she tries to ask it in a light-tone, but I can tell she's truly scared now. As fearless as she might normally act, she knows the danger our position puts us in.

So I try to alleviate her worries just a little as she gets started washing the mud and plants from my body by keeping my eyes trained on the forest. The only thing that stirs is an innocent looking rabbit.

The rhythmic feeling of her gently cleansing me forces my eyelids to get heavy. I want to close them, to escape the pain, but that would mean leaving Katniss also, and I can't do that. Not yet. She carefully works my clothes off of me, and if I was stronger I would have made some suggestive comment just to see her get flustered. But all I can manage is a tiny smirk, which she doesn't even notice because she's too busy cutting my undershirt off.

She doesn't even bat an eye as my naked chest finally comes into view, but I do. Since when am I so scrawny? And white? I already look dead, which only makes me feel weaker.

She interrupts my thoughts, kneeling beside me. "Do you think you can sit up? It'll be easier to treat your wounds that way."

I nod, and bite my lip to keep quiet as she helps me lean against a boulder.

"There," she smiles. "Almost done." She's treating me like a child, and I find that I actually like it. It sure beats the last few weeks where I was her enemy, just another opponent standing in her way. At least now we're partners, even as useless as I am. If I survive this, then I'll be sure to make it up to her somehow.

She softly washes out my hair before moving to the simpler injuries. It's funny, although the burns and tracker jacker stings are painful, they've been overshadowed these past few days by Cato's cut. Now that they're in the open, I'm once again reminded of how much they hurt.

Katniss digs in the bag at her feet pulling out a handful of small, green leaves. I glance at them questioningly, but don't ask. She's got a haunted look in her eyes as if she's remembering something painful, and I decide to just let it go. Katniss looks up at me, her face back to normal. "This is going to hurt, but it'll be over soon, okay?"

I nod, but wince terribly as she starts digging in the lump below my ear. Katniss puts a few of the leaves in her mouth and begins to quickly chew them. I stare at her confused, but she takes no notice. Once she's able to pull the stinger out, she spits the now pulp into her hand. I'm about to ask her what she's doing, but stop as soon as she places it on the sting. The relief is so immediate that I groan loudly. Whatever those leaves are, I love them.

Katniss grins at my reaction before moving on to the other three lumps dotting my chest. The reprieve from those wonderfully amazing leaves makes me even drowsier. I allow my eyes to close, as Katniss steps away to clean off what's left of my jacket and shirt.

She's back fast, and applying some sort of ointment to the burn across my chest. It feels great, and it makes me want to sleep more, but before I get the chance to, Katniss is prodding me awake.

She's holding out a handful of pills that I immediately recognize from back home, the ones that reduce you fever. I had to take them when I was ten, and badly sick with some flu. I remember how my mother flat-out refused to buy them at first because they are so expensive, but had to relent as soon as it became obvious that I wasn't getting any better. That was the sickest I've ever felt…until now.

"Swallow these," Katniss says. I do so, hoping they may make me feel better like the last time. She's stares at me contemplatively before saying, "You must be hungry."

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of food. I tried eating some roots—I can't remember if it was a day ago or several—but they didn't stay down. "Not really," I reply honestly. "It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days."

Katniss doesn't find it funny at all. She grabs her bag, and comes out with a small portion of some type of meat that looks like chicken. She tries to coax it down my throat, but the mere smell of it makes me want to throw up what little I have in my stomach, and so I turn my head away.

"Peeta," she insists, a little bit impatiently. "We need to get some food in you."

"It'll just come right back up," I try to tell her.

Katniss ignores me, of course. "You have to eat something." She looks me in the eye pleadingly. "Please."

Ugh. I'm too tired to argue, or fine, maybe I just can't say no to her. Either way, Katniss has me eat several bites of a dried apple. "Thanks," I tell her when I can no longer eat anymore. "I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?"

"Soon," she says. "I need to look at your leg first." She removes my boots and socks, and then very carefully inches off my pants.

The wound is worse than I expected. The blood, the puss, the smell—it's terrible, and just the sight of it is making me want to throw up. Katniss' face is impassive, but her eyes are wide. I know she's just trying to make me feel better.

"Pretty awful, huh?" I say.

She shrugs as if she's seen worse before. "So-so. You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines," she says it all calmly, but I can see she's just as lost as I am on how to treat it. "First thing is to clean it well."

Katniss vigilantly washes out the cut, and then when there's no speck of dirt left, she patches up the smaller wounds on my legs. She turns back to the deep gash on my thigh, her certainty now gone. She looks helpless, and I feel infinitely sorry to have put her in this position. "Why don't we give it some air and then…" she trails off, lost.

"You'll patch it up?" I finish for her, smiling sympathetically.

"That's right," her voice confident again. "In the meantime, you eat these." Katniss shoves a few pear halves in my hand, ignoring my annoyed sigh. She stares at me expectantly until I dramatically take a bite, and then nodding approvingly, she grabs the rest of my clothes and turns back to the river to clean them. Once her eyes aren't on me, I childishly stick my tongue out at her back, before quickly burying a few of the pears in the mud. I can almost hear the laughter coming from the Capitol.

Katniss lays out the clothes to dry and then starts to rifle through the contents of the first aid kit. She sits back after a minute and then looks at me sheepishly. "We're going to have to experiment some," she says.

I nod, understanding.

Katniss grabs a few of the leaves she put on the tracker jacker stings and explains to me that they draw out infection. I shrug, it's as good a start as any. Within minutes of placing the chewed up pulp on the cut, pus starts draining out of it, developing in a pool at my feet. I have a hard time keeping down the apples I just ate, and I glance up at Katniss to see how she's fairing. She looks absolutely revolted, her face twisted and green. Despite the situation, I have a hard time stifling a laugh at her expression.

"Katniss?" I ask softly. She looks at me questioningly. I mouth out, "How about that kiss?" She bursts out laughing, and I manage to keep my face straight. "Something wrong?"

"I…I'm no good at this," she admits. I smile now, showing her I get it. "I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," she continues. "Euh!" she lets out as more pus falls down. "Euuh!"

I can't hold back my laugh now as she continues letting out those noises. "How do you hunt?" I ask her, only semi-jokingly.

"Trust me," she responds. "Killing things is much easier than this. Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" I say just to annoy her.

"No," she answers. "Shut up and eat your pears."

I make a face at her, but do shut up. I feel even more tired now, but I resist closing my eyes, knowing that if I do, I'll be out in a second. Now under Katniss' watchful eye, I have no choice but to force down the rest of the pears. I do so grimacing.

Once almost all of the pus is gone, the swelling goes down considerably. It actually looks a lot better, and by the look on Katniss' face, she's just as shocked as I am. "What next, Dr. Everdeen?" I ask her playfully.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" she asks me.

"Go for it," I say.

She does, and with it covered up in a bandage, the whole thing looks good. Like it'll fix itself out now. Katniss pulls out a small backpack, and then tosses it to me. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

I catch it reflexively but then hold it back out to her. "Oh, I don't care if you see me," I tell her.

She sighs loudly, rolling her eyes. "You're just like the rest of my family. I care, all right?" I can't help but laugh as she turns around to face the stream. I never realized before how squeamish she was—it's actually really cute. I manage to wiggle out of my shorts without irritating the cut, and briefly consider throwing them at her back, just to see her reaction. But I decide I've put her threw enough today and end up tossing them nicely into the river.

I can't avoid making a comment though, and so I tell her lightly, "You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person." She scowls and I smirk before continuing. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and I can't blame her. "What's he sent you so far," she asks abruptly.

"Not a thing," I answer, but then I realize her question. "Why, did you get something?" Not that it really matters, I mean, he knows I wanted her to live—but come on, I've been suffering these past few days and he didn't send a thing—not one thing. I can't help but feel a tiny bit of resentment.

She looks at me sheepishly. "Burn medicine," she answers. "Oh, and some bread."

_Bread?_ I can't help but think darkly. That would have been nice a few days ago, when I was too wounded to find something by myself. And it's not like Katniss would need him to send her food, she's pretty capable on her own.

"I always knew you were his favorite," I say.

She shakes her head at that. "Please, he can't even stand being in the same room with me."

"Because you're just alike," I say under my breath, realizing its truth once I speak it. And it is so true—how alike they are. It's almost eerie actually.

I don't get much time to think it over, because soon after that Katniss tells me to rest, and quite honestly, I'm pretty sure I'm out before she even finishes her sentence.

***

The next thing I know, Katniss is urgently shaking me awake. "Peeta," she says. "We've got to go now."

I blink up at her confused. "Go? Go where?" Why do we have to leave this nice warm place? I'm actually comfortable in the mud now.

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger." Rubbing the sleep out of my eye, I finally take in my bearings. She's right; we do need to get out of here.

It's close to evening, nightfall only a few hours away. And I know from being with them that the Career's favorite time to hunt is at night, which makes it only more prevalent that we find somewhere covered.

Katniss helps me get dressed, none of her squeamishness present, as she hurries me into my clothes. She pulls me to my feet, and I experimentally test my bad leg out. I feel the blood drain from my face and I nearly collapse again. Katniss steadies me, keeping me upright. "Come on," she says encouragingly. "You can do this."

But it's nearly impossible. The first ten steps are pure agony, the next hundred—worse. We barely make it fifty yards before my body gives out, and Katniss is forced to let me rest. She's sits me down, forcing my head between knees, and then strokes my back. She's trying to be encouraging, but I can tell she's losing her patience. We're in the open right now and completely at someone's mercy if they were to find us.

Katniss lets me sit for a few minutes, but we only have so much time, and soon she helps me stand up again. I can barely keep my head up, as she basically drags me forward. I try to help myself along, but it feels as if my body is made from lead, and no matter how hard I try the best I can manage is a slow hobble.

Soon after she sets me down again, and at first I think we're just resting, but then Katniss starts busying herself with making a bed and I realize she's found us a shelter. And that's about all I process before she's back and helping me into a sleeping bag. It's soft and warm, and I feel like closing my eyes, but I don't. Because honestly, right now, it feels like I could die. And now that Katniss is here—I can't go without telling her a few things. Things I've been wanting to say to her for years. Things I never thought I'd get a chance to say just yesterday.

Katniss offers me some food, but I refuse it. There's no way it would stay down anyway. Surprisingly she lets it pass, and instead gets to work trying to camouflage our little hide out.

I don't take my eyes away from her face the entire time she works, just trying to memorize each single feature and burn it to my brain. Her hair, her lips, her eyes—everything. She's perfect, and I inwardly curse myself for never being brave enough to talk to her before this all started. Maybe something could have happened. Maybe if I would have tried. But now I'm dying, and I'll never make it back home, never get the possibility to be with her. It's too late, and I've run out of chances.

Katniss huffs in frustration and tears down the vines she had been working on. I see my chance and take it. No more waiting, putting it off, I'm going to tell her everything.

"Katniss," I call as strongly as I can. She's next to me in a second, softly brushing my hair back from my forehead. Looking into her eyes, it's hard to remember what I wanted to say. I start with the easy things, "Thanks for finding me."

Her eyes soften, and she smiles. "You would have found me if you could."

I nod, needing to say it before I lose my nerve. "Yes. Look, if I don't make it back—"

"Don't talk like that," she stops me. "I didn't drain all the pus for nothing."

"I know," I continue, desperately needing to tell her, to get it out of my chest. "But just in case I don't—"

She puts her finger to my lips. "No, Peeta," she says again. "I don't even want to discuss it."

Doesn't she understand how important this is? I need to tell her, I can't not tell her.

"But I—" I try to continue, but then she stops me in the most shocking and most stunning and most startling way possible—she kisses me.

It's almost funny how my mind had been so set, just moments before even, on something other than this. Because, truthfully, right now, I can't even remember what I wanted to say, or why it seemed so important. Whatever it was, what we're doing now is ten times better, more wonderful. I feel like flying, like everything will be okay again. I'm not dying, who am I kidding? How can I die now? Not after this. No way in hell.

She pulls away and tucks my blankets further around me. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," I agree. At this second, I'd agree to go to the moon with her.

"Good," she smiles at me. "Now, go ahead and sleep."

I don't need to be told twice, and after smiling back up at her, I close my eyes and sleep immediately takes me away.

It feels like only minutes have passed, but suddenly I feel warmth spread from my fingers to my toes and I open my eyes to Katniss kissing me again. She's giddy with excitement, and I'm momentarily stunned at how pretty she looks when she's not scowling.

"Peeta," she says, and I focus back in on her. She's holding up some sort of steaming pot. "Look what Haymitch has sent you."

I immediately recognize that it contains some sort of soup, and turn my face away.

She laughs, and says, "Come on, Peeta. You've got to eat it."

I don't turn around.

"If you don't eat it, then I won't let you have anything when you really do get hungry. Which you will—tomorrow," she threatens.

"Fine," I say, not turning around, and I hear her huff. I can't help but smile triumphantly.

Gently, she uses one hand to pull my face back to hers, and then she's so close, so dangerously close, that my breath hitches, and I think my heart stops. A hair probably couldn't fit between our lips, she's that close. And then she whispers, "You won't even eat some...for me?" and I know I'm a goner. That there's no way I could refuse.

"Fine," I say again, this time in resignation. She kisses me, and happily I wonder if this is heaven, if I really did die this morning. Because there's no way this is real, that this is happening.

But then she kisses me again, and I know even heaven couldn't be as good as this, so it must be real, this actually must be happening.

I sigh as she pulls away, and then eat the damn soup. Happily.

* * *

**A/N: HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY GUYS! I can't believe it's been so long. But it's kind of a perfect chapter to update with because this scene above is the reason I started writing the story in the first place. I just wanted to write Peeta's thoughts during these moments. Gah, I love that we're finally here. :D :D :D :D**

**Anyways, THANK YOU ALL. Seriously, I never would have made it this far without you guys. Over four hundred reviews, 160 favorites and alerts—you people are awesome. Especially those of you who have been here from the very beginning—_Bella Cullen33, CreamOnBagel, KietraJane, Liana111, Melted-Golden-Eyes, Canadian-Girl 114, random221, Rue101, xCrunnerNerd10, Dr. Phil21, dayra, fireonice1292, Lizi Cobalt, Nicole Cullen, Pita-BreaD-Rocks, The District Sleeps Alone, Vamptastic Veronica, the shattered star, paper. creations, NikkiB123, Artika—_you guys have been great. And your reviews always make me happy. **

**And then of course I have to thank the people I basically consider my friends now—_wolfienur, pandatwilightchica (if you're still around), and caisha702—_thanks for everything you three, it's always fun talking to you guys.**

**Alright then, that's about all I have to say. You should review and jump around happily with me now that we've reached the cave scenes (finally). There's a poll in my profile if you want to help out and vote in. Okay, now I'm done. :D **


	15. Sugar Berries

**Disclaimer**: **Once again…no**.

**A Bit of Advise From a Procrastinator**: It is not wise (no matter how confidant you may be in your procrastinating abilities) to wait until the very last night to start your 10 page Hamlet research paper. Just don't do it. It is **not** a happy experience. Another word of advice: Don't take as many AP classes as I did. Deadly.

That and the end of my first semester and the start of my second made the past few weeks a walking, chaotic nightmare. So I'm sorry for the wait.

Anyways, hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

My dreams, when I become aware of them, are more terrifying than ever before. They're vivid, and real, and so _tangible_ that even in deep sleep, my mind wonders if the Capitol is to blame. If they somehow managed to slip me more tracker jacker poison. But the burning, hell-like pain is absent, and I accept that this is simply my worst fears playing out.

Cato has both Katniss and Obel in a death grip, a knife to each of their necks, and is screaming at me to choose, to decide who lives and who dies. And although I know who I'd pick—know it so certainly that I would not even stop to consider, to even think about another option—the pain is no less great. No less torturous.

Obel dies a thousands times, and each time it gets worse. He stares at me pleadingly, his blue eyes filled with tears, and though he doesn't say anything out loud, I can hear his thoughts, can read them so plainly as if they were my own. He wants to live, to see his mother again, to work in his apprenticeship. He doesn't want to _die_, to end it all.

I cry out, begging Cato to let them both live. But he demands an answer, and again I call out her name, and again poor, young, innocent Obel, my friend, my brother, dies.

***

When I wake up, it's to the sun beating down into my eyes. I blink slowly, trying to adjust to the sudden light. The birds are out and singing peacefully, blissfully unaware of the dark place they are in. I can tell by the temperature outside that it is early morning, just a little past dawn.

As soon as my eyes become accustomed, I take in my bearings. The sight of the cave, the stream, the sleeping bag I'm snugly wrapped in, brings back memories from the day before. I blush thinking about some particular moments.

"Hey, sweetheart?" I call out jokingly, realizing she's no where in sight. "Katniss, are you there?" When there's no answer, I call her name a little louder, though not daring to lift my voice loud enough to be heard from the stream. Still there's no response.

A dozen possibilities rush into my head, but I push them away, forcing myself to think rationally. She's probably just had to go to the bathroom, or wanted to wash off in the river. I convince myself that she'll be back in a few minutes, and that nothing bad has happened.

_Stop being ridiculous_, I tell myself, although my heart is still beating way too fast for normal.

Ten minutes pass, and still she doesn't come back. Images from my dream, and some new ones worked up by my imagination start playing in my mind. I instantly decide that I need to go after her, that whatever happened to Obel, I won't let it happen to her. I can't let it happen to her.

And with painstaking effort, I try to lift myself out of the sleeping bag. It's horrible, the agonizing pain even worse than yesterday, any attempt to move my leg is misery. I wish desperately for some type of strength, but none comes, and I just about manage to push the sleeping bag when someone comes strolling into the cave.

It takes a few seconds for me to recognize that it is Katniss, not Cato, that's here. And that she is safe, not dead, before I am able to fully breathe again. She sees me up, and immediately kneels at my side, her hand at my shoulder. I stifle a shiver, as I look into her exhausted eyes. "I woke up and you were gone," I tell her. "I was worried about you."

She laughs at that, the ever present crease between her eyebrows smoothing momentarily. "You were worried about me?" she says jokingly, as she puts me back into the sleeping bag. "Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

I wave my hand away, dismissing her statement and her laughter. "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night."

Her amusement disappears. "Clove? Which one is that?"

"The girl from District Two," I respond immediately. And for some reason, guilt suddenly fills me. Guilt that I should actually know who she is, how she fights, and how she kills. Guilt that I spent time with the Careers, that I was _one_ of them. But I force myself to dismiss it. It's unimportant now. Irrelevant. What matters is why I did it. And the reason is sitting right before me now.

I continue the conversation about Clove, realizing that in the past week that I've been out, a lot could have changed. "She's still alive, right?" I ask, allowing myself to hope that maybe somehow she got killed, but knowing the unlikelihood of it.

"Yes," Katniss nods. "There's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface." I stare at her, wracking my brains for a tribute that was named Foxface, but coming up blank. She sees my confusion, and smiles. "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five." I can't even remember what the girl from Five looked like, now that I think about it. She blended together with the other tributes that I had pegged as hopeless. But obviously I was wrong, if she's managed to make it this far.

Katniss interrupts my thoughts, her face worried. My heart races at that look. "How do you feel?"

"Better than yesterday," I answer, though it's a bit of lie. My leg still feels like it's on fire. "This is an enormous improvement over the mud," I continue, smiling up at her, redness creeping onto my face, at the concern in her eyes. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…and you."

She seems startled, but she reaches out her hand and almost intuitively—I don't know why I do it—but I catch her hand and press it to my lips, placing a kiss in the middle of her palm. And again, just like last night, I'm struck by how peaceful this is. How I can almost forget where I am when she's here with me. I know I sound ridiculous, exactly like Peder when he speaks of Miri, naïve and ignorant of reality, but I can't help it. When she's around, _I am_ ignorant of reality. It's always been that way.

"No more kisses for you until you've eaten," Katniss tells me with a smile.

I pout, not really pretending, because food still sounds gross. But I let her prop me up against the cave wall, and I even swallow down a few mouthfuls of some berries she collected when I was asleep. When she offers some meat, however, I can't help but refuse. Just the smell of it makes me want to go throw up what little food I have in me.

Katniss accepts my refusal, and puts it back in her bag, though I suspect its more out of exhaustion than anything. Her eyes are red and tired, and I know she must have been up half the night looking after me while I slept. And although the thought gives me a tingling sensation of happiness, that she actually cares so much, it also causes me to worry.

"You didn't sleep."

"I'm all right," she says.

I continue to stare at her, disbelieving. "Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens." She remains unconvinced. I sigh, "Katniss, you can't stay up forever."

"All right," she relents finally. "But just for a few hours." She gives me a stern look. "Then you wake me."

Katniss pulls the sleeping bag a little farther into the alcove, deeper into the shadow, and settles down atop of it. She places her bow next to her, resting a hand on it, and I know she'd be ready instantly to fight if it came to that. I use the wall as a brace and limp painfully over to where she is, settling down beside her. I lay my bad leg out in front of me, keeping my eyes on the entrance of the cave, and wince as the wound stretches inside the bandage. She looks at me concerned and reminds me to keep drinking water and to try to eat a few more apple bits.

"Go to sleep," I tell her quietly, urging her into the rest she desperately needs. And almost naturally, without even thinking about it, my hand begins to stroke her hair. Something I realize once again I've seen Peder do to Miri countless times back home. She doesn't ask me to stop, so I don't.

Not soon after, her face and hands slacken, and she's fast asleep. I know I should be on the look out, watching the entrance for any movement, but I can't stop looking at her. She's peaceful for once, no trace of a scowl on her face. And besides, I was with the Careers long enough to know their habits, and though it would be foolish to expect nothing, I'm almost positive they are not out hunting now.

My fingers continue to run through her hair, and even though it's splattered with mud, the silkiness of it is just how I always thought it would be. My hand continues down her ever-constant braid, and I can't help but wonder if I've ever seen her hair loose before—just naturally, I mean—and I realize I haven't. When she wore it down during the interviews, it had been styled to match her flaming dress. Beautiful, but not natural. I briefly consider undoing her braid, but then dismiss the idea. That would be weird, plus, she'd probably wake up.

I content myself with leaning down and placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head, before going back to watching the entrance.

Hours pass uneventfully, and soon it is well into the afternoon. Katniss stirs, and at first I think she's waking up, but when I turn to look at her, she's still asleep. There's that crease between her eyebrows again, and I realize she's dreaming. I begin to stroke her hair again, trying to calm her down. She starts to mumble something, and all I can pick up is the name Rue over and over again. She was that little dark-skinned girl from Eleven who reminded me so much of Prim…and Obel. Way too young to be in the competition.

I realize she must be dead, must've been killed while I was out of it, and unexpectedly, it makes me feel depressed. Like once again I failed at something. Although I don't know what because it wasn't my fault, she would have had to die eventually.

_Just like Obel, _a small voice says in my head. _It would have had to have happened sooner or later. _

But then I crush that voice, because I don't want to believe it. Or accept it.

Katniss continues to twist around, her crying a little more urgent. I glance outside, but it's still as empty as before.

"Shh, Katniss," I try to console her. "It'll be all right." My fingers trail down her face, cupping her cheek. I lean down and kiss her on the forehead again. With my other hand, I continue to stroke her hair. It seems to comfort her the best, and eventually she stills, and her whimpers quite down until she's sleeping soundly again.

"Oh, sweetheart," I whisper, too low to be picked up by the cameras. "What have they done to you?"

***

When she does wake, a little over an hour later, she's immediately on the defense.

"Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," she says angrily.

"For what?" I say, trying to rationalize with her. "Nothing's going on here." And then I pause and smile. "Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot."

And that, of course, makes her scowl again, and I laugh. She grudgingly smiles after a few seconds, before quickly turning anxious again. "Have you been drinking water like I told you to?" she asks, holding her hand to my cheek, and then running her finger over my dry lips.

I haven't, and I think she suspects that, but I lie anyways.

Katniss gives me a few more fever pills, and then forces me to drink an unnecessarily large amount of water. I can't even spit it out because she's standing over me like a hawk. I forgive her, though, once she starts applying those chewed-up leaves to my stings again. The relief is just as great as it was yesterday.

Finally, after she's done with my minor wounds, she begins to unwrap the bandage covering my leg. I look away at first, not wanting to see it, not wanting to match the intense pain with an even worse image, but I hear her gasp, and I glance down anyway. And then I immediately wish I hadn't, because there's no disguising the tell-tale red streaks that have now inched up my leg. Blood poisoning. And it suddenly hits me the hopelessness of my situation, how close to death I really am.

"Well," Katniss says in her trying-hard-to-be-optimistic-but-failing-hard voice. "There's more swelling, but the pus is gone.

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I tell her. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I say it gently, because it looks like she's about to break.

Katniss looks away from the cut, and her grey eyes bore into mine, and there is a desperateness in them that scares me more than my actual wound. "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta," she tells me, her voice soft, but determined. "They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

"Yes," I say, agreeing with her although I don't actually believe I'll make it that long. "That's a good plan."

Katniss stands up abruptly, her usual emotionless mask back in play. "You have to eat," she tells me. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."

She's grabs the pot that Haymitch sent us, and her bow. "Don't light a fire. It's not worth it," I say half-heartedly as she walks outside.

"We'll see," she says, and I know she'll do it if she feels she needs to, despite the danger.

And there's Katniss for you: more afraid of naked boys and pus then she is of a crazy sword-wielding lunatic and his dutiful, equally psychotic sidekick.

I lie down on the sleeping bag and close my eyes. Even though I know it's ridiculous, it seems like I can feel the blood poisoning creeping up my skin. I slap my hands over my face, trying to get rid of the creepy feeling, but it doesn't work out so well, everywhere just feels itchy now.

I give up after a few minutes, and instead focus on a strange little moth that's flying above me as I attempt to zone out from the pain.

***

By the time Katniss returns, nearly an hour later, the afternoon is at its hottest.

"Do you want anything?" she asks me gently, as if she's afraid I'm going to keel over and die any second now.

"No, thank you," I say automatically, and then immediately take it back. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story." The request is out of my mouth before I even stop to think about what I'm asking, but as soon as I say it, I realize it's exactly what I need right now. An escape from reality.

"A story?" Katniss says, sounding surprised. "What about?"

"Something happy," I say. "Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."

She makes a noise, and I know she's annoyed, but she'll tell me one anyway because I'm too pathetic to say no to.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" she says after a minute, not really needing an answer because she already knows what it will be. I shake my head anyways for the cameras sake. She pauses before starting, as if considering her words, and then after a minute she begins.

"It was Prim's tenth birthday, and I wanted to get her something special, something that she'd be sure to love. Of course, though, I didn't have very much money. Not enough at least, to buy her something memorable."

She doesn't look at me as she speaks, instead focusing on a corner of the cave. Her eyes are clouded, and I can tell she's reliving an entirely different story than the one she's telling me now. And anyways, I find it_ very_ hard to believe that Katniss had a very expensive silver locket that she didn't pawn off during the dark time after her father's death, when she had to resort to looking in garbage cans to feed her sister. Yes, I find that extremely hard to believe.

But I don't say anything because I can guess for myself how she really came up with the money, and I think almost all of Panem can too. I mean, it's not too hard to guess that she's been using a bow way longer than the few days we got in the Training Center. You'd have to be an idiot, or I guess a Capitol citizen, to believe the story she's telling.

Katniss is still telling her abridged version, and I start listening again, though I can't help but wonder while she's talking which parts are real and which parts are fabricated.

"After I finally settled a price with the Goat Man, I had a…a neighbor help me carry the little thing home," and by the way she hesitated before saying neighbor, I knew she meant Gale. "And in a moment of complete giddiness," Katniss continues. "I bought a pink ribbon and tied it around its neck

Her face lights up as she begins to talk about her sister, and I know for the most part, that the last bit is the truth. "You should have seen Prim's face when I walked in with that goat, Peeta," she laughs, her eyes dancing in remembrance. "She was so excited she started crying and laughing all at once. My mother was less sure, when she saw the injury, but the pair of them went to work on the poor thing, grinding up herbs and coaxing brews down its throat."

"They sound like you," I say in a light tone.

Her eyes focus in on me for the first time since she began, as if suddenly remembering that I'm here too. But then she grins, "Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried." She balks suddenly, and looks down at her lap, her face paler than before.

"Don't worry," I try to reassure her by joking. "I'm not trying. Finish the story."

She looks back up gratefully, "Well, that's it. Only I remember that night, Prim insisted on sleeping with Lady on a blanket next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, the goat licked her cheek, like it was giving her a good night kiss or something," she smiles, before finishing softly, "It was already mad about her."

"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?" I ask.

"I think so," she responded, looking at me funny. "Why?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture," I say. "I can see why that day made you happy." Of course it did, anything that makes Prim happy, makes her happy.

"Well," she says superiorly. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine."

I can't help but roll my eyes, though she doesn't notice. "Yes, of course," I say drily. "I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping."

She doesn't smile. "The goat _has_ paid for itself," she insists. "Several times over."

I grin a little at her pointless insistence, even though she knows I'm right. "Well," I continue. "It wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life. I intend to do the same thing."

"Really?" Katniss finally smiles, shaking her head. "What did you cost me again?"

"A lot of trouble," I say, all seriousness. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back," I promise her.

She looks at me confused, and before I can explain that what I mean is that I will make sure she survives this mess—that she'll be able to go back home to Prim and her mom and _Gale_—she' s interrupting me and checking my forehead for fever. "You're a little cooler," she says in the voice that means I'm really not but she's trying to make me feel better.

The trumpets start up suddenly, and I glance at the sky, it's not yet dusk which means one thing: another announcement. Katniss is up and at the mouth of the cave before the music is even over. I scramble up, straining to hear every word.

And it is exactly what I feared. Claudius Templesmith's inviting us to a feast. I make myself stand, and force my way—despite the mind-blowing pain—along the wall.

Claudius' voice continues to tempt us. "Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

I keep my eyes trained on Katniss' figure a few feet ahead of me. She's focused attentively, as if already analyzing her strategy.

He continues his tantalizing speech. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

When I reach Katniss, I'm huffing for breath. She's stock-still and thinking intently and I can tell she's already decided to go. I grip her shoulder. "No," I tell her flat-out. "You're not risking your life for me."

She looks at me without really seeing me for a second, before her eyes come back into focus. "Who said I was?"

"So you're not going?"

"Of course, I'm not going," she says in an entirely non-convincing tone. "Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," she says and she puts me back into bed, not meeting my eyes. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

I scoff at her, not even trying to hide my anger. "You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." I begin to mimic her words from earlier, my tone harsh and mean. _"I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going."_ I stop, catching my breath, and lower my voice a little, realizing I had been near yelling. "Never gamble at cards," I say, shaking my head. "You'll lose your last coin.

Her anger is sparked, and her eyes light up like fire. "All right," she spits out, her words hot and fast. "I am going, and you can't stop me."

I refuse to back down, though I feel myself slowly filling with dread. And for some odd reason, my mind flashes to Gale. And I imagine how he's probably screaming at the screen, too, just as desperate as I am to make sure she's stays safe. And the thought that someone out there—even as far away in District 12 as Gale is—that at least one other person was on my side, gave me strength and with renewed energy I bite out, "I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure."

"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that legs," but her face darkens, and I know she's seeing the truth of what I'm saying.

"Then I'll drag myself," I say, refusing to relent now that I have the upper hand. "You go and I'm going, too."

She's quiet for a minute, her eyes dark before she turns to me, somewhat pleadingly. "What am I supposed to do?" she asks. "Sit here and watch you die?"

"I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go."

I watch as the fire dies in her eyes, her shoulders slump in defeat, and I sigh in relief. I can practically hear Gale's relief too. "You have to do what I say," she tells me after a few seconds. "Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!"

I nod enthusiastically, desperate enough to do anything as long as it means she won't go. "Agreed," I tell her, and then to get in her good books, I pretend to be eager about her soup, and when she fills my bowl to the very brim, I eat it all without complaining once. I make sure to tell her how delicious it is, but apparently I go a little overboard on the compliments because she checks my forehead at least a dozen times before she finally gets annoyed and ends up giving me another dose of the fever medicine to shut me up.

When she returns from river, my head is spinning less from the pills, and I smile up at her.

She grins back at me. "I've brought you a treat," she says as she holds up the pot. "I found a new patch of berries a little father downstream."

And though I feel like complaining, I bite my tongue and deal with it. She feeds me the first bite, and I'm surprised at the sugary flavor, they remind me of something, but it escapes me at the moment. "They're very sweet," is all I say.

"Yes, they're sugar berries," Katniss explains, though I've never heard the name. "My mother makes jam from hem. Haven't you ever had them before?"

I swallow another bite. "No, but they taste familiar." I swirl the sweetness in my mouth, and I swear that I've had them before. "Sugar berries?"

"Well," she says. "You can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild." I eat another spoonful, and for some reason am reminded of that time when I was really sick a few years ago. "They're as sweet as syrup," I think out loud. "Syrup," and as soon as I say it, I recognize the taste. Sleeping syrup. The cheap yet very powerful kind they sell in District 12. I've only had it once before, but the sickly sweet taste is hard to forget.

I try to spit it out, but Katniss' hand is as fast as lightning, and I'm forced to swallow. I already feel myself losing consciousness, and I fight with everything I can to resist it, to not go under. But it's futile, and Katniss' gray eyes, a mixture of triumphant and apology, is the last thing I see.

And as the blackness closes in, I think murderously of what I'll do to Haymitch if I somehow manage to survive this.

And then my world spirals into nothingness. And I'm gone.

* * *

**A/N:** And I realize that I will probably recieve a **TON **of hate mail for what I'm about to say, but I'm still going to say it. I would totally, and completely not mind if **Logan Lerman** (Percy Jackson and the Lightning Theif) played Peeta in the THG movie. I realize he's a brunette and Peeta's a blonde (so do not tell me this in your hate mail), but he's such a cutie, and acts just how I imagine Peeta to. So cute. :D And if you haven't already, I suggest you read the Percy Jackson series. I read them all in one weekend, and they were so good. Honestly, they're hilarious.

But besides that, I need some opinions. I plan on finishing the Hunger Games from Peeta's perspective by the beginning of March (4 CHAPS LEFT, GUYS!) and I've decided to not create a new story for Catching Fire (because, really? What would the title be: Through That Same Person's Eyes....uh, no.) And just put Catching Fire and the subsequent third book, under Through Another's Eyes. Do you guys agree? Or what do you think?

And thanks for voting in my poll! Jeesh, I'll finish this first! :) But this summer expect the Katniss' parents story to pop up here. And also the Haymitch one (cause I like them both so :P).

Anyways, hope you had a brilliant Valentine's Day. I know I had fun on my hot date! (**Sarcasm**, I spent the night with my friends being single and watching the Hangover for the first time). Oh, happy days. :)

REVIEW! (OH, AND THANK YOU! 500? YOU ALL ARE THE BEST!) Update this weekend. Bye for now.


	16. Something Big

**Disclaimer**: Just a poor teenager procrastinating on her 12.5 hours of homework left.

This was meant to go up Sunday, but this is literally the only time I've had in the past four days to go over it and edit (best friend's bday, mucho time consuming). But at least it was only a week and two days this time, right? … :)

**Happy (early) Birthday Laura! This chapter's for you.** :D

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

When I wake up the smell of blood is pungent in the air—the sick, metallic odor choking my throat and nose and making it hard to breathe. My hands fan out and hit something warm and sticky. Realization dawns on me, and I have to hold myself back from throwing up.

Memories from the other day—or at least I _think_ it was just yesterday—rush back to me. The sugar berries that weren't really sugar berries at all, but sleeping serum. The feast. Katniss.

And then I sit up abruptly because the smell of blood can only mean one thing. Katniss is back and something went wrong.

The sky is rosy, the setting sun providing enough light to be able to see the surrounding forest for miles. The light also illuminates the inside of the cave, giving a picturesque feeling to the image of Katniss sprawled in a golden halo of her own blood.

My heart stutters and then pounds harder than I've ever thought possible. "Katniss?" I call out quietly, hopefully. The blood rushes in my ears, and everything becomes still.

I crawl forward until I'm sitting next to her. With a shaking hand, I reach my fingers for her pulse, wishing—desperately hoping—that I will find something there. Because if I don't it's all over for me. There'll be nothing left.

My relief is so great that I feel tears prick my eyes as my fingers find a beat and then another. Slow and unsteady, but there.

"Oh, Katniss," I choke out, my throat closing up. "What have you done for me?" I push back her hair, the sticky, soaked strands clumping together, and try to make out where the wound is located.

And it's nearly impossible. My hands are slick with her blood in a matter of seconds, and the sun is setting, and the light is disappearing, and I'm just too flustered to function, let alone try to save a life.

But then I force myself to breathe, to calm down. To think. Because I have got to staunch the blood flow, and I've got to save her.

I stumble toward her backpack by the entrance of the cave, barely registering that I feel almost no pain in my leg, and rip out the first aid kit. I stay in the opening, where the light is the greatest, and sort through what I have.

A roll of bandages, the fever pills, the burn ointment, and some of those magical green leaves. Not much at all.

I crawl back to Katniss and grasp her waist, gently maneuvering her out of the pool of blood. With her flat on the dry ground, I begin to work quickly. Night is coming, and I know I can't afford to lose anymore time.

Who knows what happened at the feast. Cato and Clove could be on our trails this very second. I can't imagine that whoever gave her this wound would let her run away, unless…unless—I don't want to think about it. But the thought lingers at the back of my brain. Dark and sinister.

I use the water canteens to wash the blood from her face and from the strands of hair around her forehead. I don't dare wash out more of her hair, knowing that there'd be no way for it to dry before night set in.

With the blood gone, I can see the cuts on her face. A deep one right above her right eyebrow that looks like it came from a knife, and then a small knick at the corner of her mouth.

It's the first one that is causing all the blood loss, even now, hours later it is still steadily gushing blood. I try to remain calm, and to think rationally. Head wounds always bleed more profusely than other body wounds. There's nothing to worry about. I wrap it up tightly with the bandages, and the whole thing looks a lot more manageable covered in the white gauze.

Her boots are sopping wet, and I chide myself for not noticing earlier. I take them off quickly, as with her socks, and pile them in the corner of the cave, spreading them out to dry. Her feet are a frightening pale color, so I try to rub some warmth into them. Frostbite is not an option here. It would be a death sentence. When her toes start to turn pink again, I wrap them in my jacket, and then slowly—I'm still weaker than I want to be—I'm able to get her into the sleeping bag.

It's then with the imminent danger passed that I finally notice the lack of pain in my leg and the used needle on the ground by my feet. So she did manage to get the medicine.

Well.

That's just great. Now when she wakes up—because she will, I tell myself, she has to—she'll just be even more encouraged that she did the right thing. I sigh and roll my eyes, knowing that it will be nearly impossible to argue with her now that the Capitol medicine saved my life.

The trumpets blare, startling me, and I move quickly to the entrance of the cave. I have no idea what to expect. There's been no canon since I woke up, but then again, I was unconscious for twenty-four hours. You never know, maybe Cato and Clove and Thresh all simultaneously destroyed each other while fighting at the Cornucopia. Hey, it could happen.

But then Clove's sneering face appears and stays, and I'm disappointed but still curious. The cuts on Katniss' faces were definitely from a knife, and the only person I know to carry one beside myself is Clove. They're her specialty.

And I doubt Foxface—or whatever her name is—would take the offensive and attack Katniss. And Thresh, I guess I don't know much about him, but he seems like he'd rely more on brute strength over anything else. Cato, I know, favors the spear.

So it had to be Clove that Katniss fought. It's really the only thing that makes sense.

I turn to look back at her, and she looks so small and helpless that it's hard to imagine her being capable enough to kill a Career, let alone anyone for that matter. She shivers, as if to enforce her helpless image, and I move back beside her.

The bitter wind bites into my skin, and I start to miss the protection of my jacket.

Honestly, I swear that the Gamemakers have started to play around with us. Ratcheting the heat up during the day to insanely hot temperatures, and then to near freezing point during the nights. Just another warning of how close to the end we are.

I realize that now that I'm one of the top five tributes left, my family must be in the limelight, as will be Katniss' mother and sister.

My father must be so proud—I think happily—that I finally have what I've always wanted. Although I hope he refrains from telling all of Panem about my patheticness during his interview with Claudius Templesmith.

I wonder what my brothers think, I mean, I never had a girlfriend back home or anything, nor did I ever tell them about Katniss. They always joked around and said they feared that I might be playing for the other team—if you get what I'm saying—because all I liked to do was decorate cakes and draw. _Well_, I think smugly, _look who's talking now_.

I smile to myself, thinking about my family. But then Katniss gives a particularly violent shudder, and I'm instantly back in the Games, back in the cold, dreary cave, and back with a badly wounded, unconscious girl who doesn't seem to comprehend the fact that losing her would kill me too.

Her teeth chatter loudly in the silence, and I glance at her worriedly. Even with the sleeping bag she seems to be freezing. I consider risking a fire but then decide against it. I'm still too weak to fight off Cato or Thresh if they were to follow the smoke here, and plus, I have nothing to start a flame with.

I quickly come to the conclusion that the only way either of us is going to make it through the night is if I get in the bag with her, and I feel my cheeks redden as the realization sinks in.

It seems too personal, like I'll be invading her space and she'll have no say in it. But then I remember that she's completely out of it and that the weather is simply _freezing_ and that, well, maybe I've always wondered what it would be like to sleep next to her—either way, I swiftly get over my discomfort.

It's slow work maneuvering myself into the sleeping bag without disturbing her, but I manage. She's still shivering, and her lips look almost blue in the dark. I place her face to my chest, and wrap my arms protectively around her waist, pulling her closer to my warmth.

My heart's beating fast, and it's not because I'm scared for her—though I am, a lot—it's because I've never been this close to someone before. And it's new and exciting and terrifying and so many other things that I don't know what to think anymore.

Katniss sighs loudly and snuggles closer to me. I stare down at the face of the girl who has changed my life in so many ways and can't help but feel at peace. Despite the cold and the danger and the wounds, I feel happy. Whole. Complete, even. Like nothing could go wrong.

Wrapping my arms tighter around her, I vow—once again—to never let anything harm her, before allowing myself to drift off to sleep.

* * *

I wake up to the splatter of rain drops on my face and then groan quietly. Of course, it would start to rain. It's early morning, the sun not even over the horizon yet, and bitterly cold. Another raindrop falls on my head, and then drips onto Katniss. Her eyebrows clench together, before smoothing out.

Slowly, I manage to untangle myself from her arms without waking her up. I grab a long piece of plastic from Katniss' bag and wedge it between the holes in the rocks above the sleeping bag. Satisfied that she's safe from the water, I pull the covers more snugly around her sleeping form, and then go about finding food.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, I actually am hungry. The emptiness in my stomach is painful, and I fish around in her bag for something. I sigh happily as I find some of the meat she had been trying to get down me for the past few days and a few dried apple slices. I force myself to eat it slowly, though all I want to do is stuff my face full.

The storm gets worse, and soon I can hear thunder crashing and I see lightning striking beyond the trees. Storms like these don't come without reason in the arena, and I can't help but be idly curious of who it is meant for.

When I'm done eating, I lean against the wall beside Katniss, and roll up the leg of my pants. I'm shocked by what I see, but then I remind myself that the medicine had been from the Capitol and so, of course, it would be able to work miracles. The red streaks that had ominously been working their way up my leg are now gone, as with most of the swelling. It actually looks pretty much healed, except for the jagged scar.

I attempt to walk on it, and am pleasantly surprised to find that it actually doesn't hurt that bad. In fact, it hardly hurts at all. I grab the empty water bottles and set them outside the entrance, letting the rain fill them up, rather than getting drenched by running to the stream. At least this way I won't need to purify them.

Katniss stirs in her sleep beside me, and I can tell she is close to waking up. Gently, I stroke the hair away from her face. "Katniss," I say quietly. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

Her gray eyes open abruptly, alarmed, before softening again. "Peeta," she says simply, her voice weaker than normal.

"Hey," I say smiling, happier than words now that I know that she'll be all right. "Good to see your eyes again."

"How long have I been out?" she questions sheepishly, not meeting my eyes.

"Not sure," I respond. "I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood." I pause, fingering her bandage. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything."

Gingerly, she reaches forward to touch for herself. Noticing how parched her lips are, I reach behind me for one of the now full bottles of water, helping to pour some into her mouth. She drinks greedily, before her eyes wander up my form, slightly surprised.

"You're better."

"Much better," I tell her kindly. I had wanted to scold her as soon as she woke up, to explain to her that under absolutely no circumstances was she to ever risk her life like that again for mine, but I don't have the heart too. She looks so weak and pitiful, that I decide to wait until later. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all of the swelling in my leg was gone."

She nods. "Did you eat?"

I look down at my lap, ashamed that I ate so much food when we don't have that much to spare. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized that it might have to last awhile," I say quickly. "Don't worry," I continue. "I'm back on a strict diet."

"No, it's good," she tries to reassure me. "You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon." Her voice is so tired and she is so weak, yet there she goes again trying to protect me. Like I'm the one with the head injury.

I grin at her. "Not too soon, all right?" I say lightly. "You just let me take care of you for a while."

Surprisingly, she allows me to feed her some dried fruit and a little bit of the groosling. I make sure she drinks a full container of water, and then laugh when she pulls a face at me.

"Hey, now," I say still chuckling. "You forced me to drink _two_ full bottles of that stuff, so I'm actually being nice."

She humphs in mock anger and looks away. She's shivering again, even harder than last time, so I use my hands to warm up her feet .

"Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," I tell her as I pull the sleeping bag as high up around her chin as it will go. I watch as her eyes travel to the opening in the roof, and I look up also to see a bolt of lightning flash across. "I wonder what brought on this storm?" I think aloud. "I mean, who's the target?"

"Cato and Thresh," Katniss says instantly, a flash of pain swifter than the lightning shooting across her face. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove…she cut me and then…" her voice trails off, and I fear I know what she's about to say.

"I know Clove's dead," I tell her softly, trying to reassure her that I don't care. "I saw her in the sky last night. Did you kill her?"

"No," she says, and relief fills me, though I try to squash it down. "Thresh broker her skull with a rock."

I grimace, because even if it was Clove, a ruthless killer, no one really deserves that slow and painful death. "Lucky he didn't catch you, too," I say with a relieved sigh.

She looks almost sick, "He did," she says quietly, and the sigh catches in my throat. I feel my heart stop, and then come back to life even louder. "But he let me go."

My chin drops, and she grimaces at my expression, as if dreading having to explain, but knowing that there's no way to avoid it. I stay silent as she starts her story, my mind still blown away at the thought that Thresh, a boy who's capable of smashing a Career's head in, would even consider letting such an offensive player like Katniss go.

"You know the night that the Careers had me trapped up in the tree?" she starts awkwardly, looking away.

I nod, wincing at the thought that I had been with them, and completely helpless toward helping her.

Her silver eyes are clouded, and the look on her face is so wretched that I reach out and grab her hand, twining our fingers together encouragingly. Her mouth twitches imperceptibly, but her eyes—when I look up at them—are gracious.

"Well," Katniss continues, a little stronger now. "Rue, the girl tribute from 11, was up there, too, in the tree next to mine. She was the one that showed me the tracker jacker nest, and well, you know the rest of that part."

I smile slightly at her, to express without words that I don't hold her to what she had to do to ensure her survival, but she's not looking at me again. I mean, her eyes are staring at me, but she's not seeing me, if that makes sense, she's too far gone in her memories.

I take a moment to really look at her. The dark bags she had under her eyes a few days ago are gone now, but she still looks exhausted, and that worries me. Especially now that she's injured.

My gaze falls down to our interlocked hands, and I can't help but smile remembering the first time I held them at the Reaping ceremony. It's only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like another lifetime ago, so much has changed.

"But what you don't know is that the poison knocked me out for a few days," Katniss says, pulling me from my thoughts. "And when I woke up, I wasn't in the best of shape. I couldn't remember what types of leaves drew out the tracker jacker poison; though I knew my mother had used them, so I was still very weak. "

"Honestly," Katniss says smiling softly for the first time. "Rue probably saved my life. She found me and treated my stings—"

"With those magical green leaves?"

She laughs, and I grin, achieving my goal. "Yes, Peeta, with the magical green leaves." Katniss pauses, the laughter slowly draining from her face. "During that night and the next morning," she says quietly. I stroke her wrist comfortingly with my thumb, though I don't think she notices. "We came up with a rough plan to get rid of the Career's food supply. You see, Rue had been spying on their camp for days before we allied together—"

Her previous words leave an impact on me, more so than the others. Only because I can remember times when I felt like I was being watched back at the camp, and I can't help but wonder if that was Rue. If it wasn't just paranoia I was feeling, but actually someone watching me. I let the thought slide, as Katniss continues to talk.

"Our plan was relatively simple. She'd light a couple of fires to distract the Careers, and I'd go to the camp and find a way to destroy the supplies. Only, when I got there, it turned out to be a little more complex than I had originally planned."

"You mean the landmines," I interrupt, nodding. "It's lucky you didn't try taking anything before you figured it out."

She shrugs. "Yeah, well, it wasn't too hard," she says modestly. "I watched Foxface maneuver her way through it carefully, and it was easy to guess that it was some sort of booby trap by the way she was acting. Rue had told me that the District Three boy had been working with them, so it was pretty much just putting two and two together."

It feels like a punch in the gut when she mentions Obel, and I have to breathe deeply to stop myself from attacking her with questions. Was Obel there? How did he look? Was he hurt?

But I manage to stop myself, because now is not the time for that, as much as I want it to be.

"I managed to shoot down a bag of apples," Katniss continues. "And, luckily, they hit the landmines just right and all of them went off. The only problem was I wasn't expecting them to be so powerful. The force sent me flying back and popped my left eardrum."

I look up at her, surprised. "Is it deaf?"

She nods, her hands clawing at it irritatingly, as if trying to force the sound through. "It's hard to get used to," she admits warily. "But I'm managing. Anyways," she moves on, her tone faster now, as if she just wants to get done with it. "I slept underneath a bush a hundred feet away from their camp because I couldn't make it away in time."

Katniss looks up and sees my horrified face, and she spares me a smile. It does little to help my mood. "Don't worry. They weren't staying at camp. Cato led them off in the woods to try and find the person who wrecked their plans. Little did he know I was a mere spear-throw away from him the entire time," she says in such an uncharacteristically smug voice, that I can't help but chuckle. She grins back at me and I have the sudden urge to kiss her. But she starts talking again and the moment is gone.

"By morning, I was well enough to walk again, and I made it to the spot where Rue and I were supposed to meet up. She wasn't there, but I didn't think much of it," she says softly. "I figured she was stuck in a tree, but after a few hours I decided to go after her."

She stops talking for a second, her eyes dark with memory, her hands—I think unknowingly—are gripping mine tighter. I'm reminded of the Opening Ceremony, and when her touch was the only thing keeping me grounded; and I hope that right now that's what I'm being for her. I don't say anything, and I don't think she wants me to.

Eventually, after just a few more moments, she removes her hand from mine and rubs her face tiredly. "When I found her…it was too late. The boy from One—"

"Marvel," I say in distaste. Katniss ignores me.

"—was there, I watched him put a spear through her. I killed him, but…but the damage was done. She died in my arms," she says it so quietly and so defeatedly, that I feel myself break. I hold my arms out, and she leans into me, pressing her face against my neck. "It was terrible, Peeta," she whispers in my ear, too low for the cameras. "She was just like Prim, so innocent." I press a kiss to her forehead, trying to console her.

"They sent me bread," she says a little while later. "District 11. I remembered from that lesson you gave me on the different types of bread." Inwardly, I grin at the memories of our awkward, forced lunchtime chats. Outwardly, I continue to stroke her hair and stay silent.

I've never heard of it before, a District of a dead tribute sending a gift to a remaining contestant of another District. I bet it was unprecedented, a matter of great gossip for all of Panem. But that's exactly what I've been trying to say for the past few weeks.

Katniss has an effect on people. She always has. Even back home and being from the Seam, everyone she knew looked up to her. Even some she didn't know. Because she was the girl who had nothing, yet lived like she had everything.

After a few minutes, I feel and hear Katniss take a deep breath, as if forcing herself back to reality. She pulls away, her face emotionless, as if that brief moment of weakness had never happened.

"At the feast," she finally starts again. "Clove managed to stun me. I don't know how she knew about me and Rue being allies, maybe she guessed from my expression that it was a sore spot, either way, she was about to kill me before Thresh pulled her off. He had heard her talking about Rue, and thought she had been the one to kill her. Clove tried to deny it, but he smashed her skull in once she started calling out for Cato. "

Katniss looks down at her lap. "And so Thresh asked me if it was true, if we had really been allies, and I told him we had. And he let me go so that we would be even, and so that he wouldn't owe me anything anymore."

I can't help but stare at her in disbelief. "He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" It just doesn't make sense. We're all here to fight to the death on live television. There's no room for debt. It's kill or be killed.

"Yes," Katniss says dismissively. "I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain."

I bristle at her comment, annoyed by her assumption that because I come from the town that it automatically means I had some sort of pampered life. "And don't try," I say scornfully. "Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

Katniss sighs, her hands wringing in her lap. "It's like the bread," she says finally. "How I never seem to get over owing you for that."

"The bread? What?" I'm confused for a second, and then comprehension crashes down on me. "From when we were kids?" My anger disappears as memories from that rainy day come flying back. I push them away, not wanting to relive them over now. "I think we can let that go," I say. "I mean, you just brought me back from the dead."

She shakes her head. "But you didn't know me. We had never even spoken," she pauses, as if regaining her thought. "Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then." Her eyes travel to mine, catching them, searching them. "Why did you, anyway?"

"Why?" I ask, my eyebrows raised, surprised. "You know why."

Katniss shakes her head once sharply.

I sigh, and roll my eyes, immediately remembering the conversation I had with Haymitch right before the Games started. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing," I mean to say it to myself, but she still hears it—which is pretty surprising considering she's deaf in the left ear.

"Haymitch?" she asks out right confused by now. "What's he got to do with it?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head in defeat, and deciding to just let it go for now. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh?" I change the subject quickly, ready to move on to a less awkward conversation. "I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" I smile, attempting a joke.

She doesn't laugh like I expect her to. Instead, she says in a small voice, "I think we would like Thresh. I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve."

I would agree with her, but that would be pointless. It's wishful thinking, something that's never going to happen. "Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to."

Her entire demeanor changes to one of sadness. Not obviously, of course, for all of Panem to see. But I can see, and that's all that really matters anyways. Wetness pricks at her eyes, and then I'm really concerned, because I can't remember ever seeing her cry before, and it scares me. A lot. If Katniss is breaking, someone who's always seemed unbreakable, what hope is left? But then I push that thought away because it's ugly and wrong and something that will never happen. Katniss can't break.

"What is it?" I ask her gently. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

A tear leaks out of her eye, and I feel my heart break a thousand times. "I want to go home, Peeta," she says, and she sounds so much like a child, so lost and scared, that I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go.

"You will," I tell her instead with mighty conviction. "I promise." And leaning down, I place a soft kiss on her lips.

Katniss frowns, unsatisfied with my answer. "But I want to go home now," she whines.

"Tell you what," I smile. "You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it. Okay?"

She seems a little bit more reassured. "Okay," she whispers back. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch," I say, letting her know that, for now at least, I won't be harping on her for knocking me out. "Besides," I continue, motioning to the rain and the brief respite it gives us. "Who knows how long this will last?"

I lean back against the wall as Katniss falls asleep beside me, and think about how close we really are to the end now. How in just a matter of days, everything could be totally different. We could be in the Capitol, the first pair of District winners ever. Or, you know, if you wanted to be extremely optimistic, we could even be on our way back home to District 12.

I sigh, and for the first time since being Reaped, I allow myself to think about returning home and actually _living_. It's a nice change.

When I wake Katniss up again, a few hours later, the storm is at its worse. The rain is torrid and icy and leaks through the small holes in our ceiling.

It's dramatic weather for a big finale.

I don't envy Cato and Thresh right now. It must be nearly impossible to see, and I wonder how much longer they can drag the inevitable on.

Katniss wakes up as soon I shake her shoulder, more alert and conscious than she's been for the past couple days. Slowly, she starts to sit up, and I quickly reach to steady her. She smiles at me gratefully before leaning against the cave wall, breathing a little too hard for comfort.

"I'm starving," she says after a few seconds.

I sigh in relief because I am absolutely famished. The past few week of eating hardly anything finally catching up with me. Eagerly, I set out all the food we have left, and am disappointed with the result.

There's hardly anything. Two pieces of groosling, a handful of dried fruits, and then an assortment of small roots.

"Should we try and ration it?" I ask, hoping she'll say no. I don't think I've ever been so hungry in my life, and idly, I wonder if that is true. At least at home, even in hard times, there was always left over bread to eat.

"No," she says tiredly. "Let's just finish it. The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food."

Neatly, she divides the pile between us. I try to eat slowly, but hunger overcomes my will, and in a matter of minutes I'm done. So is Katniss, her stomach making empty, growling noises. I look at her concerned, but she waves it away.

"Don't worry, I've had worse," she says evenly, and I instantly feel bad that I have anything to complain about when this girl in front of me has faced so much harder things and survived.

"Tomorrow's a hunting day," Katniss declares a few minutes later.

"I won't be much help with that," I say sheepishly, feeling like a weak link. Which I am, but still. "I've never hunted before," I try to explain.

She takes it in stride. "I'll kill and you cook. And you can always gather."

I nod agreeing. "I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I say wistfully. Then at least I'd have a standing chance at not making myself look like an idiot.

Katniss gets a look in her eyes, and reaches for her backpack. "The bread they sent me from District 11 was still warm," she sighs longingly, instantly sparking my hunger with her words. She digs around in her bag, before pulling out a handful of small leaves. "Here, chew these," she tells me, popping a few into her own mouth. Cautiously, I copy her movement, and recognize the taste of mint. It does nothing for the angry knot in the middle of my stomach, but it does help in making me forget about its presence a little.

The trumpets blare a while later, and I help Katniss to the cave entrance, because she refuses to miss it for herself. I keep my arm around her shoulders, partly to keep her stable, and partly because her touch soothes me. The projection is hard to see through the downpour, but it's easy to distinguish that there were no deaths today.

"Where did Thresh go?" Katniss questions once we're sitting down again. "I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?"

"A field," I say, shivering at the memory of the wide, openness. "As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders," I pause. "I don't know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colors. But there are no paths."

"I bet some of them are grain," she says with certainty. "I bet Thresh knows which ones, too. Did you go in there?"

"No," I reply, thankfully. "Nobody really wanted to track Thresh down in that grass. It has a sinister feeling to it." Goosebumps crawl up my flesh just thinking about it. "Every time I look at that field, all I can think of are hidden things. Snakes, and rabid animals, and quicksand. There could be anything in there."

Katniss looks outside, a thoughtful expression on her face, I pick at the bandage still wrapped around my leg, waiting for her to break the silence. She does, a few seconds later. "Maybe there is a bread bush in that field," she says jokingly. "Maybe that's why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the Games."

I try to remember what Thresh looked like during the Interviews, and all I can remember is thinking how huge he was in his costume. I can't imagine him getting any bigger, and I don't want to. Once again, though silently this time, I hope that he and Cato both take the other down somehow. It'd be a lot easier that way.

"Either that or he's got very generous sponsors," I say regretfully. Something I wish we had. Sure, I mean, Haymitch is great and all. But I just wish he'd wake up from his apparent nap, and see how we're slowly starving down here. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread," I think out loud, inwardly contemplating shouting to the screen, or, I don't know, throwing my shoe in a general direction and hoping it hits a camera. Something drastic.

Katniss' hand wraps around mine, pulling me from my thoughts. I smile up at her, happily surprised. "Well," she says mischievously. "He probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out."

That instantly sobers me up. "Yeah, about that," I say, trying to find words to express my feelings. I thread my fingers through hers, gaining strength through the contact. "Don't try something like that again," I finally say.

She's still grinning. "Or what?"

"Or...or..." I desperately search for something that will make her understand. Something that will make her see, but the words escape me. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" Katniss asks innocently, her tone light, mocking.

"The problem," I say honestly, the words finally coming out. "Is that we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing."

"I did do the right thing," she responds stubbornly.

"No!" My hand grips hers harder, tighter than I meant to, but I'm too overcome with emotion to let them go. "Just don't, Katniss!" I say with intensity. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors," I stop, a little winded. And gauge her expression. She looks at me startled, her eyes wide. "All right?"

I think maybe, just maybe, I made her understand. But then she's shaking her head. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta," she says slowly. "Did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who…who worries about…what it would be like if…"

Her face closes up, as does her mouth. She flounders, at a loss, and I'm surprised by the emotions flickering across her features. I lean in closer, trying to make them out, twining our fingers together tighter. "If what, Katniss?" I say softly.

The air is so emotionally charged that I swear that even if Cato came tearing in here with a bomb I wouldn't be able to move away from her. Because something's changing between us, right now, something huge. Monumental. Earth-shattering, even. And I think she senses it, too.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she says quietly. Subconsciously, at least I think, her gaze flickers down to my mouth, and then back up to my eyes, and the expression there is so…different, so amazing, I actually feel my heart start pounding faster. And I swear she can hear it also.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," I say, my voice low and husky.

And then I'm leaning forward, and our lips are connecting, and it's so much better than the others. So much more wonderful.

Everything disappears except for her. And me. We're no longer in the Games, no longer being watched by millions. It's just me and Katniss, discovering something brilliant, something real, something big.

It feels like hours pass before I finally have to pull away, gasping a little for air. Her breath swirls around me, her presence warming me to the core. I kiss her nose lightly, needing the contact again, before finally noticing the little bit of blood around her temple. "I think your wound is bleeding again," I say, still catching my breath. "Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway."

Regretfully, I move away from her arms and grab her socks. They're not completely dry, but they're better than nothing. I bring them over to her, and she sits up, unzipping my jacket I've been letting her wear.

"No, no," I tell her, though secretly I'm bitter cold. "Really, Katniss, I'm fine. You keep it."

She shakes her head at me. "Don't be ridiculous, Peeta. It's freezing."

It's pointless to argue when I'm shivering so hard, so I take it and then fetch the sleeping bag from the corner.

"I'll take first watch," Katniss says. I'm about to argue, but she beats me to it. "You haven't slept all day. Besides, I'm not even tired yet."

"Do you really think anyone will be coming through this weather?" I ask her.

"No," she says, looking out at the rain. "No, I really don't. But it's safer to be prepared, than be sorry for it later."

Her teeth are chattering, and her body is literally shaking from the cold. "All right," I say finally. "If you want to take the first watch, at least stay in the bag where it's warmer, you'll freeze to death out there." She looks like she's about to say something, but I interrupt her. "Come on, Katniss," I say slowly. "You're already shivering and it hasn't even been a minute."

She relents finally, climbing into the bag with me. As we lie down, I pull her head onto my outstretched arm, and wrap my other hand protectively around her waist, pulling her small frame closer to my body.

Unlike the other night when I was embarrassed by her close proximity, it feels natural now. Like I could sleep like this every night and never want for more. I pull her closer and sigh deeply, my eyes fluttering shut.

And the only clear thought swirling around my brain as I drift off to sleep, is how I wish I could pause this moment and relive it over a thousand times. Because it's perfect, and honestly, who knows how many more perfect moments I will have.

The end is coming however much I wish it weren't.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you go. And I was wrong before, _now_ there are four chapters of the Hunger Games left. At least, I think. Chapters always end up getting longer than I plan, and sometimes there is just a natural ending and I take it. Like this one for example. I had planned for this chapter to go up until Foxface died, but I liked this ending better.

Anyways, I just watched Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue on some Olympic site—and am now a huge fan. They're amazing. For some of you who don't know, they recently just one gold in ice dancing for Canada. And they're both super cute (especially Scott) and super talented. (And I'm not even Canadian! Nor do I like watching figure skating!)

Four more chapters to go...and then on to CATCHING FIRE. Whoo! :) Anyways, leave a nice little review and you shall be my favorite.


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